


What it looks like

by Sneery69



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Character Study, Cockles, First Time, Homophobia, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Work In Progress, mentions of violence against a teenager, tw: abuse, tw: panic attack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:30:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneery69/pseuds/Sneery69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jensen reads the script for Season 10, he freaks out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We hide in silence

**Author's Note:**

> So it's actually funny how I started this BEFORE jib con. It's like I saw it coming, I don't know. After taking two days to contemplate it I decided to continue and publish this fanfic, although now it has a different ring to it and I'm not sure if I like that. I do not mean any disrespect to Jensen Ackles or his family, this is just me exploring a matter that I care deeply about.

He can feel Misha look at him warily from the other sofa. They have been sitting in tense silence for several minutes now, but Misha still hasn’t said anything. It occurs to Jensen that he’s probably waiting for him to react somehow.

“I…”

That’s as far as he gets before his throat constricts again and he feels the need to swallow convulsively.

“Look, Jen”, Misha starts hesitantly. “I know we never talked about this, but this isn’t really a big deal. It’s just a kiss.”

Not a big deal. Just a kiss. Jensen wants to laugh hysterically but he’s afraid he’ll never stop once he starts. 

“Dean isn’t gay” Jensen finally chokes out and he congratulates himself for not screaming I’M NOT GAY I’M NOT GAY I’M NOT GAY MY FATHER WILL SEE THIS

Misha frowns, but just says “He doesn’t have to be.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t have to be gay to kiss a guy, Jen. Have you never… uh, kissed a guy?”

Jensen buries his head in his hands and just breathes. He’s not gonna cry, he’s not gonna…  
There’s a touch on his shoulder, it’s Misha it's just Misha Misha Misha 

Jensen opens his eyes and realizes he’s somehow across the room, on the floor, and fuck, there are tears on his cheek. His heart hammers, his breathing is ragged, and Misha stares at him with the worst look on his face, a look that tells Jensen that he somehow _knows_.  
He doesn’t try to approach Jensen; instead he turns around and goes to the farthest corner of the room, as far away as possible from him without getting out of eye-sight, and sits down on the floor. His expression has changed from devastated to something less telling. 

Jensen manages to get himself under control after some minutes. Misha’s eyes don’t stray from his face for even a moment, and finally he murmurs “We can make them change the script. They can’t make you do it if it… triggers you.”

Jensen doesn’t know why he barks “It shouldn’t trigger me.”

“But it does.”

“It…it would. Will.”

“As I said, we can tell them. They’ll find a way around it.”

“No, I … Mish, I can’t do it. The implication would still be there and…I…”

“You’d have to answer questions concerning Dean’s sexuality at cons, probably even on magazines, yes.”

“I can’t do it.”

“Okay.” 

Misha looks at him solemnly, no judgment in his tone or expression, and Jensen is so grateful he feels new tears welling in his eyes.

“But let me say one thing first?”

Jensen nods reluctantly, sure that he doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to hear what an ass his father is, doesn’t want to hear that it’s okay to want to touch a guy once in a while, doesn’t want to hear that a good actor would…

“If you ever want to approach this in any way at all, come to me.”

Misha smiles at him before he leaves. It’s a sad thing, but it gives Jensen strength, some hope or a crutch, he doesn’t know, he just knows that he feels slightly better.

___

The next day, Singer calls. 

“Okay Jensen, this might come as a surprise to you…You have read the script, yes? Yes, okay, so Misha Collins called and told me that he’s not doing the kissing scene, and that he strongly opposes the idea to include any more romance between Dean and Castiel in the future. Personally I don’t know why he suddenly…”

“Thanks, Rob. I…thanks for telling me. I, uh…actually we talked about this and we…agreed.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, this is really inconvenient; we’ll have to rewrite the whole thing. And well. I don’t really see how we get out of this now. I really don’t know why…Anyway, meet me in two weeks in my office? I’m afraid we can’t sort this out the easy way. Misha already knows so…”

“Okay. Yeah, okay.”

“Good, I’ll mail you the exact date. See you then.”

“Bye.”

___

For no reason at all (except that he feels like shit and that he knows he strongly disappointed Rob and probably Misha and Jared maybe – did Jared read their script too? He wasn’t in the scene but… - and the fans, they’d get wind of it, there was a con somewhere in the next weeks and he’d have to answer their questions and…) Jensen gets ridiculously drunk all by himself that very evening.

And then he calls Misha for only very poor reasons (except that he wants to talk about it even if he really really doesn’t want to and he can trust Misha, Misha is understanding and kind and funny and he always fools around with Jen in front of people and never asks why he sometimes pulls away at weird moments, and Misha is beautiful and makes Jensen feel stuff he doesn’t want to feel but he’s really this great great friend and who else should he go to, Jared isn’t even in town and Misha offered anyway) and asks him to come over.

Misha says “Okay” without any hesitation at all and rings his door bell twenty minutes later.

He steps over the threshold and carefully around Jensen’s personal space with an easy smile, holding up two boxes of Chinese food. 

“Hungry?”

Jensen just says “Hell yes.” and is pretty sure his voice doesn’t slur, but Misha frowns at him anyway. “You’re drunk.”

“Uh. A bit.”

Misha seems to contemplate that for an unnecessarily long moment, but finally just nods. “Gong Bao Chicken or Chow Mein?”

“Chow Mein. You can go into the living room, I’ll get forks.”

Misha snorts at his uncouth ways of approaching Asian cuisine but does as Jensen says.

___

To his utter dismay Jensen is, in fact, pretty drunk. He can’t seem to find the forks at first and then he bumps into the counter painfully before actually making it back to Misha, who, to make it even worse, is frowning at him over the half-empty Whiskey bottle on the couch table.

“You’re wasted, Jen.”

“Shut up, I’m hungry.” Jensen slumps down right next to Misha, thigh pressed against him and all. Misha says nothing and starts eating.

Jensen wolfs down his (absolutely delicious) food and then turns to Misha with way too much momentum, as it turns out. Misha actually has to steady him with one hand to his shoulder.

“Wow Jen, the bottle was closed two hours ago, wasn’t it.”

“It…might have been. Uh. Misha. I. “

“Jensen, I’m really not sure if these are good circumstances for you to start talking about…”

Jensen puts a finger against Misha’s lips in an absolutely ridiculous attempt to silence him. At least Misha is so stunned that he actually shuts up. Jensen remembers to draw back his finger, but it’s a close thing. Fuck, he’s drunk.

“Listen, I have to get it out like this because sober I’m never gonna say it but I really want you to know that my, I mean, my father. He never. Just, he’s not a bad person, okay? He isn’t. It was just this once, and he apologized. Well my mother made him do it, but he did, I mean. I was sixteen or something? And it was the neighbor’s boy, we weren’t even really friends, it was just a stupid dare but I kinda wanted to, too, and then…”

Misha doesn’t prompt him to go on. He just stares at Jensen in a way that suggests that he isn’t sure if he should be even listening to this. Jensen has to smile for a moment because Misha sometimes is an ass but then sometimes he is so very noble and… Yeah, he was going somewhere with this, wasn’t he?

“Okay. So we kinda. Okay, we made out in the garage while this other kid stood around and played witness, and my father came in through the basement. I was … I could see him come in and I broke away but he saw it. The two kids ran as fast as they could, but I felt like a stone, I don’t know. Have you ever felt like a stone? Like you couldn’t move even if you tried? I was terrified, I saw the … this hatred in my father’s face, I’ve never seen…”

Jensen grabs the bottle from where it’s precariously balanced on the very edge of the table and gulps down an exaggerated mouthful. He doesn’t feel like crying, exactly, but somewhere deep down he knows he’s starting to freak out again. He never told anyone. Only he and his parents knew.

“I knew instinctively that the man standing before me wasn’t really my father in that moment. I think I actually tried to run then, but he already…He. He got to me. And then…I. I couldn’t go to school for a week I was so green and blue. I was…he never…”

Okay, yeah, he’s crying. Misha looks at him helplessly, like he wants to comfort him but doesn’t know how. He has one hand actually outstretched towards Jensen, but it hovers there undecidedly. Jensen pushes into him with his whole body, snuggling into Misha’s side and burying his face into the crook of his neck for a moment. He knows he’ll get away with it because he’s drunk and he needs comfort. Misha probably wouldn’t mind normally anyway, he’s that kind of person. No shame and no boundaries. A bit like Castiel, actually.

“The worst thing wasn’t the injuries, but what he screamed at me. My father is a moderate man, y’know? Always polite and considerate.”

Misha draws invisible circles against Jensen’s shoulder and it’s strangely calming. “I knew he was a devoted Republican and that he wasn’t exactly…uh. Pro-marriage equality, I guess. But I’ve never seen him losing it like that. I think it was over after five minutes, but it felt like hours. My mother found us, I think she must have heard shouting. I know he went out that night, and my mother cried the whole time while she tried to fix me up. Next morning my father came in, he reeked of stale alcohol - he never drinks Mish - he said that he was sorry and that it wouldn’t happen ever again and until this day we’ve never talked about it.”

Jensen lets out a very long breath. He feels strange, lighter but also sad that this came up again in his life, that they apparently haven’t managed to forget about it. Or well, he hasn’t. 

“Two times guys hit on me after that, and both times I freaked out. You know. With…with breaking down and once with… I punched one in the face.”

Misha nods, then mumbles: “You fool around with the cast a lot, though. One wouldn’t think…that you had issues.”

Jensen shrugs. Misha is warm and his skin smells incredible, and he doesn’t really want to move. “You’re all different. It’s fun. And you. You always somehow know when to stop. You’re awesome, Mish.”

Misha chuckles, and - Jensen nips and his throat. 

Misha jumps so hard that he knocks Jensen down on the sofa, and suddenly everything goes blurry and…

“Jen? Jen, are you okay? Jen please open your eyes.”

Jensen blinks rapidly, but the fog in his brain doesn’t really clear. At last he can make out Misha’s face hovering a good eight inches above him, his beautiful eyes full of worry.

“Jen? Are you okay?”

Jensen smiles at him dopily. “Your eyes are super-pretty, Mish.” 

Misha looks first dumb-founded, then exasperated. “Okay, buddy. Bed for you, now. I’m gonna sleep on the couch just in case you decide to get sick. Come on.”

Misha pulls him up on the arms with surprising strength and somehow gets him into the bedroom without them both landing on the floor. Jensen is half asleep when he slurs “Could sleep with me y’know, bed’s very big.”

The last thing he hears is Misha muttering “I think not”. Then, Jensen blacks out.

___

Unfortunately, Jensen remembers everything the next morning down to the moment he decided he wanted to know if Misha’s skin tasted as good as it smelt.

He gets up with a painful moan and swallows the two pills presented to him with a glass of water without really processing the hand that holds both. Well, at first.

As soon as he sees it’s actually Misha staring down at him he wants to go hide under the covers for the rest of the day. Misha is relentless though; he pries his fingers from the sheets and nudges his knee with one foot until Jensen grudgingly stands up. “Yeah, okay, okay, I’m up.”

“Come, I make an awesome hangover-breakfast.”

“There’s nothing in my fridge. Maybe an apple.” Jensen slumps against the door of his small bathroom, head pressed against the wood, wondering if Misha would mind if he’d just go back to sleep like this.

“I did the shopping two hours ago. Now go shower, you reek.”

Later at the kitchen table, Jensen wonders if he should pretend that he can’t remember anything, but decides against it. If he’s totally honest with himself (which he tries to avoid most of the time) he doesn’t really want to let this go now. He wants to… well, maybe he wants to get over this… trauma thing. At least with Misha. Jensen still remembers the crushed look on Misha’s face when he had reacted so badly to his touch.

If only Jensen knew how to handle this stuff. 

He starts with clearing his throat because that’s what people in movies always do, and then draws a blank.  
Misha stares at him over his glass of orange juice. 

“You wanna say something about the neck licking thing?”

Jensen’s feels himself blush furiously. He stuffs some eggs into his mouth just to do something, and then proceeds to almost cough them out again because Misha is actually smirking at him. Misha smirking has always been Jensen’s secret weakness, and it doesn’t fail to get him flustered now.

“Uh. Well, yeah. I was…drunk?”

Misha’s left eyebrow climbs up an impressive inch or so, but then he nods. “You were. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite this wasted. Didn’t think you had it in you, Ackles." He smirks again, this time with a strange edge to it, but it’s gone before Jensen really gets what it means.

“Um. You smelt pretty good. That’s what I was thinking. Then. Well, I was drunk.”

Well done, Jensen, well done. Now he looks like a complete idiot. Misha seems to agree. He’s grinning from ear to ear, gums and everything, and it makes Jensen grin down into his cup too. He feels like a school boy who just admitted to something naughty, but it’s a good feeling, somehow.

Then it hits. Jensen is _attracted_ to Misha. He’s attracted to another man, and earlier what freaked him out was to think about kissing a man he actually wants to kiss on-screen, where his father could see, and suddenly Jensen feels violently ill. 

He makes it to the sink but it’s a very close call, and then he’s retching up his breakfast and a lot of vile liquid. It burns his throat and it burns his eyes and Misha’s HAND IS BURNING HIS SKIN “DON’T TOUCH ME!”

Jensen can hear Misha jump back like he has actually been burned and feels shitty about it instantly, he never freaked out quite like this what is even wrong with him he needs to stop panicking he needs to stop imagining his father witnessing him kissing Misha…

“Jen! Jen, please. Please, what can I do?”

Misha sounds wrecked, Jensen hates it, he needs to stop hyperventilating, he needs to get ENOUGH AIR

“Window” he rasps out and hears Misha rush to open one. When Jensen hurries over Misha has already cleared the way, standing in the farthest corner of the room just like last time, completely out of the way but in sight.

Jensen leans out of his living room, taking large gulps of air, wondering where his life went wrong and how he would ever set it right again.


	2. This is not a therapy session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misha asks if he should go. Jensen asks if he could stay, just for some days.

[I’d like to emphasize that obviously, the kind of “therapy” Misha suggests is as far from professional as it gets in real life. Don’t try it or advise someone to do it, please]

 

Misha asks if he should go. Jensen asks if he could stay, just for some days. 

“Gonna need some stuff from my flat. It’s not going to take me more than an hour. That okay?”

Misha looks tired but his eyes are wide, and everything in his expression tells Jensen that he’ll stay, fuck clothes and toiletries, if Jensen needs him here.

“It’s fine. Of course. Take all the time you need.”

Jensen hesitates, then sighs. “Thank you. You’re… you’re a really great friend, Mish.”

Misha gives him a funny little smile, and if Jensen thought before that something couldn’t be happy and sad at the same time, he now realizes he had been wrong.

___

As soon as Misha is out of the door, Jensen grabs his phone. He wants to call Jared but he ends up with his mother instead.

“Jensen! I haven’t heard from you in a while. Will you still come over in the summer?”

“Hey mom. Sure, we won’t start on the new season before August.”

“Are you alright? You sound strange.”

“Just. A rough night, I guess. Alcohol.”

His mother doesn’t reply for a moment, and he imagines her hurrying through the kitchen, looking for a spatula or a cloth. She loves cooking, and when he was little he used to think that that was everything she ever did.

He doesn't know what makes him say: “How’s dad?”

“Oh, he’s fine, honey. His knee is a bit worse but you know how he is, never says anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Mum, do you…do you remember when…When I was sixteen?”

“Yes, of course, you were in love with this girl, what was her name, Cynthia?”

“Charlotte, and I mean…I actually was referring to. When dad got really mad at me and you sent Mack to granny…?”

A short silence, then: “Oh. Yes. How could I ever forget this, Jensen.”

He can hear her leaving the kitchen. He wonders if his dad was in the room with her and she left so they could talk privately.

“I actually wondered sometimes if you would ever mention it again”, she confesses. “I told your father if he ever hit one of you again I would leave him.”

Jensen swallows. He hasn't known that. “It was bad”, he manages. 

“Yes. Yes it was. Why are you really calling, Jen?”

“It kind of… came up. With the new script. You know. The reason for… why dad got so angry.”

His mother makes an agreeing sound, but he has to wonder what she thinks right now.

“It’s. I didn't react well but a friend helped me and I… I thought it might help if I… I don’t really know what I thought.”

“It’s okay Jensen, you can always talk to me, of course. What is in the script?”

Jensen laughs, because she always tries to get him to tell her about scripts. “I can’t spoil, mom. And we’ll get it changed anyway, so…”

His mother snorts. “Changed? This never happened before.”

“Well technically…”

“Oh! Oh I know. It’s that destiel business, right?”

“How do you even know the term for that? No, it’s okay, I don’t actually want to know. Uh. Misha is at the door, I’m going to hang up. Love you mom.”

“You’re going to tell me eventually, Jen! Love you too!”

He ends the call wondering if he’ll actually one day tell her.  
___

When it’s not just weasel words but Misha returning, it’s half past four and Jensen has managed to clean the kitchen and found some sheets with a pillow for Misha to sleep on.

“You can take my bed, the couch is fine with me”, is the first thing he says, but Misha just rolls his eyes at him and starts throwing stuff on the counter.

“Since you vomited your breakfast up again I thought I’d cook. How do you feel about rice with mushrooms and vegetables? It’s one of my favourites.”

Jensen ignores the warmth that pools in his stomach at the idea of Misha cooking his favourite food for him and just makes a vaguely affirmative noise while fussing with the additional bedclothes.

“What? Don’t you like mushrooms? I guess I can do fish instead…”

“No. No, I mean, rice is fine. I love mushrooms.”

“Good. Why exactly are you so nervous?”

Well, fuck. Count on Misha to get out his creepy perceptiveness now, when Jensen feels unhinged and raw. Or maybe Misha asks now because of exactly that? He hasn’t led him astray in this so far, so Jensen feels he should go with honesty.

He gets out two plates and knives for the vegetables while he contemplates how best to word this and finally sits down opposite from Misha. They quietly arrange everything on the counter and begin to cut.

“I think I’m nervous because you’re here. I mean, it’s a good thing, obviously, but I’ve never…confided in anyone quite like I confided in you. And you know about these attacks, too, so I feel I shared a great deal of myself with you in… not even the span of a week.”

There, this wasn't so bad. Jensen thinks that came out pretty good while slicing a tomato, not quite daring to look up at Misha, who doesn’t stop cutting his peppers for even a second.

“If you want, we can make an exchange. People are often asking me strange, personal questions, but you never really did. Is there nothing you want to know about me, Jen?”

Misha’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of bewilderment in his tone, like it just occurred to him that maybe Jensen really doesn't want to know anything.

Which is the biggest pile of bullshit anyone could ever come up with, of course.

“Well, you’re pretty open about some stuff, and I always felt it was rather impolite to inquire after things you seem to evade deliberately through wittiness and sarcasm.”

Misha chuckles and gets up to put water on the stove and some oil into a pan. 

“Well, looks like you pay a bit of attention to me, after all.”

Jensen doesn't blush. He _doesn't_.

“But I think I just gave you permission. I can still choose not to answer, after all, so shot away.”

“I don’t know, Mish. I think we know each other for over five years now but somehow, even though the topic seems to come up disproportionally often with you around, I still couldn’t figure out … well, who you’re sleeping with.”

Misha doesn't freeze like Jensen half-feared he would. He just keeps on cooking, putting the mushrooms into the pan first and then starting to add the rice into the boiling water.

“You mean with whom I sleep besides my wife.”

“Ah, yes. You do, don’t you? Sleep with other people. Because I figured but…well, as I said, you never really talk about it.”

“I do sleep with other people, yes. So does she. Although for the last year I haven’t really… done anything much.”

Jensen tries to imagine what it would have been like if it had worked out with Danneel, if they could have pulled off an open relationship. He doesn't think he could have shared her, and he feels a pang of regret about the fact that he can’t guess on her opinion.

“Why not?” Jensen hears himself ask and then inwardly cringes because, yeah, maybe a bit _too_ personal.

Misha shrugs nonchalantly, but Jensen notices the stiffness in his shoulders anyway. 

“Nevermind. Tell me about anything you’re comfortable sharing with me.”

For the first time, Misha actually turns around to look at Jensen. He wears this interesting expression where one of his eyelids seems to hang down a bit while his mouth turns upward on the other side. Jensen secretly calls it his ‘tired and displeased but trying to deny it’ face.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s just... whatever. I’m not sure I have an answer to that one myself.” Misha frowns down into the rice and apparently deems it ready. He rummages for a colander while he says: “Vicky and I used to have a girlfriend for several years. It worked well for a while but led to a bit of a crisis in the end.”

Jensen gives up pretending to work and pushes the vegetables towards Misha so that he can add them to the mushrooms. “Why?”

“Well. At first we were both very taken with her, but while Vicky fell deeper and deeper, I kind of …I don’t know, lost interest, I guess. In the end Vicky had to decide between her and me because I had grown overly jealous.” Misha looks downright pained by now, throwing the rice on top of the vegetables a bit too forcefully. “Not one of my better moments. Today I could let her have both, I think. Back then I thought I was losing her.”

Jensen stares at him, impressed. “When was this?”

“Ten years ago, more or less.”

“And what changed?”

Misha says nothing for a long while, and Jensen is afraid he has asked too much, again. Maybe he should just let Misha ramble on and keep his mouth shut. 

When he finally choses to reply they have full plates on the couch table, and red wine to go with it.

“I guess I’m older now. And I have realized that it’s possible to love a second person without taking anything away from the first one.”  
It’s an interesting thing to say, but Misha raises his glass before Jensen can add another question. 

___

They eat in comfortable silence, and Jensen makes sure to completely over-do the praise to get another one of Misha’s grins, but it tastes really totally awesome.

It also turns out that Misha hasn’t just gotten them one bottle of wine, but three. 

“I’ve talked to a therapist”, Misha states apropos of nothing while getting the second one, already having to fight a bit with his balance.

“Don’t look at me like that, Jen, I’ve obviously not mentioned you directly. She said it’s a bad idea to do this without someone with a medical license, but agreed that even though it’s an unorthodox method, we can use your lowered inhibitions under the influence of alcohol to find your breaking point and then go backwards from there. Theoretically, of course.”

He looks half pleased and half afraid, as if he himself isn’t sure that it’s a great idea. Jensen just shrugs. “Might work, or not. It’s just you and me here, so what is the worst that could happen?”

Misha grimaces and puts the bottle down without filling their glasses. “I could send you into a panic attack that we can’t end by ourselves so that I had to call an ambulance. That could get you media attention which, I’m sure, is the last thing you want. You could hurt yourself or me during an attack with the same result. One or both of us could do or say something that would damage our friendship beyond repair.” He takes a gulp directly from the bottle. “Those are only the likeliest one’s.”

Jensen knows he must have a stupidly chastised look on his face, but damn, he hasn’t thought that far. Yet somehow, he still thinks this is a good idea and so does Misha, if the amount of alcohol already consumed by them is anything to go by. Wait, actually…”But wouldn’t it be better if you stayed sober for this? Lower the risks, and all that?”

Misha smirks, and good god, Jensen is drunk enough already to stare unabashedly. “Yes. We won’t start today. Tomorrow I think, so I have time to set up some emergency plans if we’re actually doing this. We also might want to talk about stuff that could damage our friendship.”

Jensen frowns at him, finally remembering that staring at someone’s lips instead of their eyes isn’t considered polite in the best of scenarios. 

“Uh. I can’t really think of anything. Except maybe you telling me that you really hated me all along and just pretended to be cool to get closer to Jared or something like that.”

Misha snorts out a bit of wine at that and starts to cough. Jensen pats him on the back comfortingly. “Don’t worry. I don’t think that. You’re, uh. Obviously not. I mean, you’re here, aren’t you?”

“Glad you have some faith in me, Jen.”

“Anything you would hate to hear from me if I actually meant it?” Like how he thinks that Misha is amazing and that he smells heavenly and that late last night he imagined what it would be like if Dean and Castiel kissed and that he sometimes watches Misha act where he can’t see him because he's different around him and how much he goes out of his way to make Misha smile -

“Don’t call me a faggot. Not even jokingly, but especially not during a fight.” Misha finally reveals while looking at him solemnly, but Jensen isn’t fooled. It cost him a lot to say that.

“I wouldn’t. Ever. Why would I say that?”

“I don’t know. Some people think they can use these words when they saw you kiss a guy.”

Jensen frowns. “I haven’t seen you kiss a guy. In earnest.” At Misha’s strange expression, Jensen hurries to add “And of course that’s still no reason. Hell Mish, what is it? Are you trying to tell me you’re … bisexual or something?”

“Yes, in fact.”

“Oh.” _Oh._

Misha looks so tense Jensen fishes for words even though he doesn’t quite know what to say. He can’t believe that the first thing coming out of his mouth is “How does it feel?”

Misha’s body posture changes from rigid to pliant in under a second, and Jensen has to hide a nervous smile behind his empty glass. He decides it’s as good a time as any to refill it.

“I thought you kissed this guy when you were sixteen, Jen.”

Jensen takes a large gulp and shrugs. “I can’t really remember. It was a joke, anyway.”

Misha nods and his eyes unfocus a bit, staring at something far away, remembering. Jensen feels jealousy punch him in the gut and quickly shakes his head. Not going there.

“It feels good. Really good. They’re more forceful than with women, and of course, there’s stubble.” He smiles like he’s actually feeling it, and Jensen tells himself Misha’s eyes aren’t dilated – it’s just the fading light in the room. For the first time, he notices that his hair looks softer than in the morning. He must have washed it when he got his things from the flat.

Misha sighs and sinks back into the couch. Jensen is pretty sure that at the beginning of the evening they sat a good deal further away from each other but he doesn’t bother with it, just refills Misha’s glass too and leans back next to him.

“Did you feel anything when I told you that? Any panic?” Misha watches him with glittering eyes, and Jensen isn’t sure if the question is completely what it seems to be. But that’s just Misha, sometimes. “Nope, nothing. I watched Brokeback Mountain with Danneel, you know. I only freaked out a bit later when I imagined telling my parents about the movie.”

Misha nods. “So if we had to do the Dean/Cas scene, but your father couldn’t watch it for whatever reason, and would also never get wind of it, do you think you could do it?”

Jensen contemplates that. “I’m not sure” he admits. It’s not just the gay stuff. It’s Misha he would have to kiss in front of dozens of people, and more than just once since these scenes tended to take a lot of time. And his feelings for Misha seem to be quite ambiguous these days. Jensen isn’t drunk enough yet to seriously muse about his sexuality, but the thought touches his mind for a moment. 

"I don't know if I could distance myself enough to be Dean.”

Misha looks surprised again, but then just tilts his head a bit and nods. “Wanna watch TV?”

___

They agree on football and finish the second bottle of wine in the first ten minutes. The game is boring and somehow, Jensen accidentally starts a tickle fight (he was just grabbing for the remote, really) that soon morphs into a giggly wresting match on the floor.

Jensen feels elated by Misha’s presence and the pleasant buzz in his head, and Misha is gorgeous like this, so close and bright-eyed. 

Very close. When did they get like that? Through his own laughter Jensen realizes Misha is just pinning him on the floor with his legs now, grinning down at him triumphantly. His hands rest lightly on Jensen’s belly, just a reminder that he can start tickling him again anytime.

“See?” Jensen says when he finally manages to calm down. “This is super-gay, but I’m not freaking out at all.”

“Vicky would tell you it’s not gay to get defeated in a fake wrestling match, but I quite agree.” 

“Wait, are you doing the Psychology stuff? You know, mentioning other people in this context to see if I freak?”

Misha awkwardly flops down when Jensen pulls his knees up to unsettle him. Jensen can only guess that he might have wanted to land next to him on the floor, but the end result is more some kind of octopus hug than anything else, with Misha lying half on, half off Jensen and all of his limbs somehow around him.

The next words are muffled by their close contact. “Not really. Maybe ‘bit. I don’ know Jen, bed?”

For a breathtakingly slow second, Jensen thinks Misha actually invited him to have sex, but then he remembers that they’re not like that, and drunk, and on the floor. “Yeah, good idea.”

Jensen doesn’t really notice that he pulls Misha along into the bedroom until he’s throwing him on the bed. “Woah Jen, you need only have asked.”

Jensen just flops down on the other half and mumbles “Is a big bed”. Then, he falls asleep.


	3. Art is a complicated thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I really need a good beta-reader for this; I spend way too much time trying to erase all the mistakes I make. Any native-speakers interested?)
> 
> What I'm trying to do here is to show that you can't always determine if someone is going to go into a panic attack even if you know their triggers, and that triggers can also vary depending on mood, social surroundings and so on. You might think you said something harmless and it's enough for the traumatized person to break. You might think you've done something unforgivable and they might not even blink.

The morning could be worse, Jensen surmises while he rummages around in his bathroom cupboard for some paracetamol. Especially since this time, he can be the one bringing Misha salvation. 

He tries not to smile too much at the picture Misha makes on his bed. He probably wanted to shed some clothes during the night, but he only managed to get rid of his shirt, and even that is still half up one arm. Oh, and the zipper of his jeans is down and doesn’t do anything to conceal Misha’s morning erection, but Jensen doesn’t let his eyes wander there. He’s hyperaware of it, so he probably did look at one point, but he doesn’t now. Right. He’s not looking.

Okay, he’s totally looking. 

And of course, Misha choses that very moment to wake up by at first languidly stretching his (very firm) body and then, probably noticing Jensen standing entirely too close, mumbling his name.

“Yeah, right. I. uh. Pills.”

Jensen blushes so hard he decides he needs to hide it. He throws the medicine onto the covers next to Misha’s head and hurries out of the bedroom as fast as he can, hopefully muttering something about breakfast and not penises.

___

When Misha enters the kitchen looking freshly showered and alert, Jensen doesn’t acknowledge him at all. He just places the eggs and bacon on a plate and carries it over to the counter, then turns around again to search for some orange juice.  
From the corner of his eye he determines that Misha noticed his strange behavior because he doesn’t move at all, just stands there and stares at the side of Jensen’s face. His cheeks burn where he can feel the phantom of Misha’s eyes.

“Uh. Breakfast?” Jensen makes himself say, still not managing to turn around to face his friend fully. 

“Sure, I guess” Misha replies, but he’s still not moving and what the hell - he needs to apologize, doesn’t he?

“Uh.” Ackles, you’re pathetic. You will turn around, and you will look into his (blue, amazing, ridiculous) eyes and you will tell him that you didn’t mean to ogle his junk…

“I’m sorry”, Misha blurts.

Jensen freezes mid-turn. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should have gone to the couch.”

His expression is unsure and it looks so alien on Misha’s features that Jensen has to blink to see if it will go away.

“Er.Why?”

Misha shuffles from foot to foot, slowly edging closer. “I suppose…I just fell asleep. I was pretty drunk. I remember thinking that I had to get up and move, but…”

“Mish what the hell? If I remember correctly, I literally shoved you onto my bed myself. Why are you apologizing? Sit down and eat.”

Misha slumps down onto one chair. “But you looked so… You had this expression on your face…”

Oh right. He had been staring at Misha’s penis and Misha had somehow concluded that Jensen had been freaking out.  
Jensen busies himself with the juice glasses, trying to think of an explanation that isn’t “Your cock looked _huge_!”

“You…look cute when you sleep.”

What the hell, brain?

“I mean…peaceful. Yeah. I was surprised.”

It will never stop to amaze Jensen how quickly Misha’s mood can swing around. His grin erupts so forcefully that it seems almost comical for a moment. Then, he uses what Jensen calls the “flirty eyebrows”.

“Why, Ackles. Thinking I’m cute, hmm?”

Jensen manages not to spill juice because he’s a professional and sits down opposite from Misha calmly. Red-faced, sure, but calmly.

“Shut up and eat your breakfast, Collins.”

___

“So, what do we do today?” Misha wants to know while they clean the dishes, and Jensen notices that he has started moving his legs a lot, like he feels restless.

“Uh. I guess we could go for a walk? Or, maybe to the art gallery? I heard they have a new exhibition.”

Misha hums lazily. “I didn’t know you like art.”

“I don’t mind it.”

A secret little smile appears on Misha’s face at that. “You looked it up because you know _I_ like art.”

“Maybe”, Jensen admits and doesn’t even blush anymore. He guesses his crush is pretty obvious by now. _Not thinking about it while sober not thinking about it…_

“Thank you. I’d like to go.”

Misha’s smile doesn’t disappear for quite some time, and Jensen finds that it’s worth being a bit overly honest with himself if that is the result.

___

As it turns out, Misha knows a lot about art - a hell of a lot more than Jensen can even pretend to understand. So he gives up nodding along to Misha’s interpretations of various drawings that apparently are “amazingly deep” but only appear mildly interesting to Jensen and opts for studying Misha instead.

He’s not going to make a comparison between Misha and art, of course. That would be ridiculous, and he might have a crush and the thought alone might not be enough anymore to send him into a panic, but starting with this kind of romantic crap screams GAY GAY GAY in his head and he needs to hold it together now, especially because Misha is enjoying himself so much. It’s in his eyes, mostly, but also in the relaxed set of his lips. Misha’s mouth sometimes gives hints even when his eyes close off, Jensen has noticed. 

They’re rounding the second wall when suddenly, someone shouts Misha’s name across the room. Every single one of the visitors turns around, and Jensen sees a very handsome young man hurrying over to them. His eyes are brown and huge, his skin an interesting shade of dark olive, and Jensen is sure he has to be a model of some kind.

Then, he kisses Misha on the lips.

“Well, hello Tom”, Misha says wryly, pulling back almost instantly, sending a nervous look at Jensen.

 _He’s afraid I’ll freak_ , Jensen thinks. Well, he _is_ freaking. Jealousy isn’t a strong enough word for what Jensen is feeling in his gut right now. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot myself”, Tom laughs, holding his right hand out to Jensen. “I’m Tom Hawking, thanks for coming to my expo.”

Jensen mutely shakes his hand, hoping the pressure he applies is somewhere in the acceptable range. Probably not, if Tom’s grimace is anything to go by.

“You have become a real professional”, Misha says, effectively diverting Tom’s attention from Jensen. “I was suspicious the moment I saw your initials. You’re still using the same colors, don’t you?”

 _He’s not introducing me_ , Jensen realizes. He feels sad and grateful at the same time.

___

Tom stays at Misha’s side for the reminder of their visit, chatting away about his work and the money he’s finally making, and Misha listens attentively without saying anything much. Jensen just kind of awkwardly trails behind them until he decides he has had enough and wanders over to the tired looking waitress that seems to be in charge of the buffet. 

“Please help yourself, Sir”, she tells him, and Jensen selects some cheese and a glass of wine.

 _I’m going to become an alcoholic_.

It must have been over twenty minutes in which Jensen chats with the waitress, Amanda, who tries to hide her weariness but doesn’t quite succeed, and drinks more wine. Finally, he can hear Misha’s voice over the general murmur. Jensen doesn’t turn around out of fear what he might see. Maybe their hands brush right now, maybe Tom’s hand is at the small of Misha’s back…

“I’m sorry, Tom, but I really can’t.”

“I… Okay, I guess. But your friend could come, too. You know how much Vincent likes to…entertain new people, especially if they look like _this_.”

“Excuse me?” Jensen says because they’re literally standing right behind him, and he knows he is murdering Tom with his eyes but he doesn’t care.

To his satisfaction, Tom blushes a deep red. 

“Oh. Oh. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you’re here…uh. I think someone wanted to buy one of my works, I’m right back.”

 _Take your time_ , Jensen barks in his head while he watches Tom hurrying across the room in what seems to be the direction of the restroom, not the gallery.

Misha is staring at him with an entirely too wary expression on his face, and Jensen hates that he seems to be the reason for these kinds of looks a lot lately. He doesn’t want Misha to feel uncomfortable about his sexuality just because he can’t hold his shit together. He also wants to murder Tom and keep Misha away from him forever.

“I’m sorry. Again.” Misha finally says, breaking eye contact. 

“Stop being fucking sorry”, Jensen hisses and then cringes at his own tone. “No, that came out wrong. Mish, would you mind giving me a head start? I think I need a moment.”

Misha nods, and there it is again, the expression he gets when he tries to hide negative feelings for the sake of others. But Jensen can’t think about this right now because he sees Tom making his way back to them and he’s already feeling this _aggression_ come back.

“If you don’t…If you want to go with him, it’s okay. I…not that I can forbid you anything, I…whatever.”

Jensen flees.

___

Jensen knows it’s a fundamentally bad idea to get drunk _again_ , but it’s not like he’s out of schedule. Misha wanted to begin today anyway, and he is merely already starting without him. If he actually comes back, that is.

Jensen tries not to think about all the things he could get up to with Tom, but doesn’t quite succeed. He imagines them deep in conversation about art over a nice dinner, sees them going home together a bit tipsy, can picture Misha slowly starting to undress while Tom looks at him hungrily…

Right, so Jensen is failing miserably and somehow finds alcohol to be at least a bit of a help, since his mood quickly dips from angry and jealous to self-pity. After the wine at the gallery, one tumbler full of whiskey is enough to have him almost drunk again and Jensen is about to refill his glass when the doorbell rings.

He looks at the clock. Not even two hours have passed since he left the gallery. No way anything sexual happened, right? Maybe a quick handjob in the restrooms… 

The bell chimes again and Jensen remembers to actually get up and open the door. Misha stands on the other side, two big plastic bags in either hand, expression closed off.

Jensen watches his mouth for hints, but gets distracted by their slightly rosy color. Had there been kissing? Misha said something about enjoying stubble, but Tom’s skin had been smooth as a baby’s…

“Erm. May I come in?” Misha finally asks, now looking a bit annoyed after all.

“Oh. Yeah.” Jensen steps aside, catching an unusual smell when Misha brushes past him. _Tom’s cologne_.

“You’re drunk again? Seriously Jensen?” Misha stares at him, not even two feet away. 

“I might have had too much wine at the gallery.”

Misha sighs and turns around, starting to unpack his bags onto the kitchen counter. He apparently bought several medical supplies such as bandages and salves, but also something that looks like massage oil, some magazines, movies and, strangely enough, a box he doesn't open and puts back in one of the bags.

“When did you get all this?” Jensen asks stupidly. 

Misha rolls his eyes, but Jensen doesn't think it’s directed at him. “I had a hard time getting rid of Tom after you left. He somehow concluded that now that you were out of the way, sex was no problem between us.”

Jensen just blinks. “What?”

Misha frowns at him. “Do you actually want to hear the back-story to this encounter? You didn't seem to take it very well.”

“I…” Fuck. He can’t say what he really felt, but he also can’t let Misha believe that he has any problem with his bisexuality.

“I just really, really didn't like him.” Jensen finally mumbles, and realizes too late that this is as good as a confession after all. It’s not like he actually knew Tom or anything.

Misha has the beginnings of a smirk on his lips, probably an indicator that he picked up on it, but he doesn't let it take over. 

“Yeah, well. To be completely honest I don’t remember him to be quite this annoying, or…persistent. We had a thing some years ago, when he was still unknown and struggling. Vicky agreed to let him into our bed, but it soon became apparent that he was only interested in me. I wasn't overly taken with him even back then, but he was an interesting conversationalist and his art seemed promising. “

Misha busies himself with arranging the supplies around the room, putting some bandages next to the TV while moving others next to the fridge.  
“Sadly, ‘staying friends’ after our short affair didn't work out. He took it as a personal insult that I didn't want to sleep with him as payback for me letting him stay on our sofa for a while. Uh, I think he might downright hate me now.”

Jensen feels something deep down relax. “What did you tell him? That you had to help a friend get over his homophobia?”

Misha smiles. “You’re not homophobic, Jen, just traumatized. And I might have hinted that I’m actually…uh, that you’re my… partner.”

Not even Misha’s blushing can stop Jensen’s thoughts from derailing. His father loved art. He could know Tom, they could be acquaintances. They could talk. Tom could tell him…

The room is spinning, but Jensen is still aware enough to focus his eyes on Misha. 

“Tell me about your last vacation!” Jensen almost shouts and probably sounds insane, but Misha seems to pick up on the problem immediately.  
He calmly sits down on one of the kitchen chairs without breaking eye contact, already speaking. 

“I was in Tibet at one of the oldest monasteries to meditate for three weeks. I had been there before, and the monks all knew me. You’re not allowed to speak inside the walls. There’s a lot of praying and small tasks like cleaning the floors, but it relaxes me.”

Jensen breathes deeply, feeling calmer by the second. 

“Vicky hates that she can’t come. I think she’s very close to writing a book about the sexism of world religions, to be honest. But I like that I am utterly alone except for silent monks for some weeks a year.”

Jensen nods and finally manages to slump down across from Misha. “Huh, that actually worked. I read about it on the Internet.”

Misha smiles, but it’s another of those sad one’s. “Didn’t know you were doing research on your own.”

“Of course, can’t let you do it all alone.”

Misha fumbles with the package of a cooling salve and doesn’t look at Jensen anymore. “What did I do this time?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. You did nothing. I just…had this completely idiotic idea of Tom and my father meeting and… and this coming up…”

Misha actually shrinks in on himself and puts his head on the counter. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, please, Mish. I don’t mind.” Jensen reaches out automatically to touch the back of Misha’s hand. “Just. I don’t. I wish I hadn’t…this…This whole thing threw me off-guard, but I wanted to, that is, I …I’m really not good with expressing myself, am I?”

Misha chuckles wryly. “Everyone has their weaknesses”, he mumbles, intertwining his fingers with Jensen’s but not looking up yet.

“I have a lot of those”, Jensen confesses, tightening his grip on Misha. “I wish I could be more like you. Self-assured and … and proud of who I am. Free.”

That gets him eye-contact, after all. Jensen isn’t prepared for it, for the astonishment in Misha’s eyes, for the _hope_.

“What do you mean?”

Jensen braces himself against what he will say next. He knows he must be crushing his fingers by now, but Misha doesn’t even seem to feel it.

“I…think I might be… not completely heterosexual.”

There. Jensen exhales, surprised about the lack of panic. He said it, and it wasn’t that bad. He did okay. He doesn’t have to say that he never felt about another man like he feels about Misha. It’s enough if he alone knows that.

Misha is smiling his brightest smile at him, and it’s really worth anything and everything to get to see this, to be so close to something as beautiful and unique as Misha. Jensen doesn’t mull over the gayness of his thoughts, just feels that he is having some kind of once in a life-time revelation.

“Wow, Jen. I wouldn’t have thought we’d get here this fast.”

“Looks like it just needs a good freak-out and a bit of alcohol. And, well, you.”

He really needs to stop saying emotional shit if he wants to keep his crush a secret.

Misha shakes his head, still smiling, and finally draws back his hand from Jensen’s grip. 

“I actually wanted to start with the big guns today, but considering that we barely avoided an attack, how do you feel about settling for a mildly gay movie? You said it was okay with Danneel and Brokeback Mountain.”

Jensen nods. “I’m all for that. What did you get us?”

“Alexander. It’s not as bad as people say, I promise.”

Jensen only shrugs. He has never heard of this movie, so he’s not going to protest. “Whiskey or wine?”

Misha grins. “Nothing. Maybe water? You’re supposed to be drunk, not me.”

“Right.”

___

They settle down to watch, and while it’s not exactly a master piece, Jensen enjoys himself. He’s also getting really drunk again, and he has enough self-awareness to notice that he’s gravitating further towards Misha with every glass, but not enough self-preservation to stop, apparently.

Misha lets it happen and keeps up a constant commentary on the historical inadequacies and the homoerotic background of the movie. Jensen only half-listens, but stares at an almost kiss between Alexander and Hephaistion and feels almost nothing except maybe mild arousal, but that could be because of Misha’s closeness.

Instead of examining the thought, Jensen just lets it roll past and away from him. He’s incredibly comfortable, enveloped in Misha’s warmth and scent (when did Misha put an arm around him?) and soon, Jensen feels himself drifting off.


	4. Lists and lots of alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he were completely selfless, he’d send Misha away, lying about needing space for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I'm still not at all happy with this chapter, but I felt it wouldn't get better anyway, so here you go.

It’s in the middle of the night when Misha wakes him, whispering something about more comfortable beds and aching backs. Jensen gets up only because his neck actually does hurt already. He must have fallen asleep on Misha’s shoulder or something.

“Come”, Jensen mumbles, pulling a pliant Misha with him. “Not gonna freak, promise.”

It’s not good hospitality to let your guest sleep on the couch, after all. 

___

The next morning they sit at the breakfast table bickering amiably about who hogged the covers more when Misha’s phone rings. 

“It’s Vicky”, he says and gets up, but doesn’t leave the room, instead choosing to stand by the window. 

Jensen keeps eating, listening intently since apparently Misha is okay with it. 

“I don’t know, Vic, I’d have to ask Jensen, but it’s a good idea… Yeah, sure. I’m, …uhm. Maybe we could talk about this another time?”

Misha looks at Jensen at that, mouth twisted in that strange half-smile that really isn’t a smile at all.

“Yeah, I’m aware. I don’t think I will go this year.”

There’s a pretty long silence in which Misha actually walks further away from the kitchen into the bedroom, but Jensen can still hear his muffled voice.

“Vic, I know that this is…hardly fair considering…. I’d really like to talk to you about this in person, okay? I will ask Jensen and then write you.”

An even longer silence follows in which Misha finally chooses to lock himself into the bathroom, and Jensen refrains from eavesdropping only because it’s a morally questionable thing to do. But damn, he really wants to know what’s going on. Misha and Vicky are best friends on top of being a very harmonious couple, after all. What could have upset Vicky like this?

Misha joins him to help with the dishes not five minutes later, expression troubled. 

Jensen wonders if he should keep his mouth shut, but curiosity wins at the end. “Are you alright?”

Misha carefully places the last plate back into the cupboard. “Yeah. Vicky kind of expected me to be in Los Angeles soon. She’s a bit pissed.”  
Jensen feels sickness creep into his stomach. “You didn’t tell me…You need to go!”

Misha shakes his head, jaw set. “No. I explained the situation to her. She…she doesn’t like it, but she understands. I will stay in Vancouver until we have that talk with Singer, at least. Except if… if you don’t want me here, of course.”

He stares at Jensen imploringly, like Jensen would actually tell him to get lost any moment.

And Jensen considers it. If he were completely selfless, he’d send Misha away, lying about needing space for a while and so on. Jensen knows Vicky; she’s a wonderful, understanding person who trusts Misha completely. He has seen them together on various occasions, and if she’s pissed, then she has very good reasons and Misha should go to her to set things right again.

But…

“I don’t want you to go. I want you here, with me.” _I think I might want to keep you for myself._

He didn’t just think that. He did.not.just.think.that.

“Jen?”

“Uh. Right. What I wanted to say was that I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay if… if Vicky disapproves.”

Misha frowns at him. “I won’t stay forever. Just until we figure this out.” He hesitates, but finally adds: “I actually thought we could both go to L.A. when this is settled. If you haven’t got other plans, that is.”

Jensen sighs unhappily, but nods. He doesn’t want Misha to go, so why does he feel so guilty? He doesn’t really entertain any ideas… any _ideas_ concerning Misha, does he?

Does he?

“How do you feel about the beach?” Misha blurts apropos of nothing and promptly blushes. “Uh. I’m sorry. I think I might be a bit…nevermind. Beach?”

Jensen blinks. “I love it, why do you ask?”

Misha turns around to rummage in the secret box he hides under the fridge that he doesn’t allow Jensen to see the contents of and produces a small note book. 

“I thought about using the beach as an exercise as soon as you feel ready.” Misha throws the small book over to Jensen. “Please only read the first two pages.”

Jensen sits down on the sofa, regarding Misha’s chaotic hand writing curiously. It seems to be some kind of list that mostly consists of stuff like “talking” and “touching” with various marks behind the words that could mean anything from a simple “check” to ancient Hebrew. 

“Uh. I’m not sure I’m following, Mish.”

Misha throws himself into the chair, and Jensen can’t help noticing that he’s still looking tense. 

“It’s my progress diary for you, so to say. The psychologist I consulted suggested it. I mark down every instance you talk about your issues, every time it’s brought up around you, and so on. I also note how you reacted, if it was positive, neutral, negative. And if you had an attack, of course.”

“I presume the symbol for that is that spiral thingy?”

“Correct.”

Jensen almost closes the notebook, but then he sees the name “Tom” scribbled at the bottom of the page, followed by what looks like a lightning bolt. Behind it, there’s a half formed spiral, but it’s crossed out. Jensen swallows. Even smaller, cramped on the very last line on the page, Misha wrote “thought of father being told he’s in a relationship with a man” followed by a small spiral and what looks like lips.

Misha is studying him carefully from across the couch table. “I added the mouth for the successful diversion tactic you suggested.”

Jensen shuts the book and puts it on the table with shaking fingers, trying to breathe calmly through his nose. He can feel the cold needles on the back of his neck that he by now knows to associate with the beginnings of a panic attack, but he tries to wrestle it down by concentrating on Misha’s wide, warm eyes. 

The thought of his father hearing about that kind of thing is still a red flag, apparently, but it’s a second hand feeling by now, not nearly as strong as the day before. When Jensen manages to get his breathing under control, he’s still staring at Misha, who by now has a big grin on his face.

“You did it! You stopped it by yourself, didn’t you?”

Jensen blushes. “You helped.” _You and your ridiculous baby blue’s._

“How? What did help?” Misha is already opening the book and fishing for a pen in one of his jeans pockets.

“I ….uh. Just kind of felt grounded by your…eyes.”

Could he have formulated that any gayer? Seriously, this was quickly becoming ridiculous.

Misha just nods enthusiastically and scribbles away, proudly showing Jensen his (very abstract) eye symbol. “So my voice and my gaze help you. You’re improving incredibly fast, Jensen. I didn’t think this was even possible.”

Jensen resigns himself to the blush he knows is creeping up over his neck to his cheeks. He likes Misha being proud of him – so what?

Misha rambles on like Jensen isn’t beet red in the face. “So since you’ve already come as far as keeping yourself out of an echo panic, I think we can start for real. There are three stages to every situation you want to master: talking about it, imagining it, actually doing it. You with me so far?”

Jensen only nods, trying to calculate when Misha did his research on this. There has barely been any time, really. Did he know about this kind of stuff before?

“Good. So what we’ll do is this: We will make another list, using my notes as a basis, and you’ll tell me what situation will be easiest to what situation might be worst. Now, the problem here is that some things might actually send you into a panic just by mentioning them, so I suggest you start drinking alcohol now.”

Jensen frowns at him. “You serious? It’s not even eleven.”

Misha smirks and starts to get beer from the fridge. “No pain, no gain, Jen. And we’re actually doing science here, so suck it up. I promise if you end up with an alcohol addiction, we’ll treat that too.”

Jensen deflects the thought of actively finding more reasons for therapy if only it means Misha will stay with him, since that wouldn’t only be shitty, it would also border on self-destruction. So he’s not thinking it.

___

It’s past one in the afternoon when Misha deems Jensen drunk enough to start, not without placing various items and, of all things, a yoga mat, on the floor next to the couch.

“So I read up on relaxation techniques”, Jensen wonders again when Misha could possibly have done this without him noticing, “and I decided we’ll start with autogenic training to calm your body and mind. Lay down.”

Jensen is just drunk enough to do what Misha tells him to without asking further questions. Misha takes a cross-legged seat next to Jensen’s head and smiles down at him.

“Close your eyes, Jen.”

Jensen does that, too. He feels pleasantly buzzed, and when Misha’s voice starts rolling over him he notices faint arousal sparking in his stomach. 

“You’re safe here. You’re safe and relaxed. You feel calm.”

It’s curious, Jensen thinks, that Misha’s voice and closeness would affect him so strongly now. He’s not alarmed by it in the least, though. He just feels warm, a bit drunk, and very relaxed.

“Your arms grow heavy now. You can feel the blood flow to your fingers as they grow hot. Your arms are very heavy.”

Jensen tries to suppress the smile that threatens to break through at that. His blood is flowing alright – he just has the suspicion it’s going in the wrong direction.

“Concentrate on your belly. I want you to feel your center, the energy pooling out from there to your legs. The blood and the warmth let your legs grow heavy, too, and you might think you’re falling. It’s alright, you’re perfectly safe.”

Jensen does indeed feel like falling. Distinctly, he senses darkness tugging at his consciousness, but it’s gentle, soothing.

“When you open your eyes at my command, you will be completely awake. You will be refreshed, but relaxed. Open your eyes now, Jensen.”

Jensen is a good pupil, and he shoots up at Misha’s words immediately, feeling slightly disoriented.

“Easy, tiger. I didn’t say anything about sitting up, now did I?”

Misha’s hand is warm on his neck, and Jensen feels instantly grounded. “Huh, that was…different.”

Misha pushes him down to the floor again, worried gaze locked on Jensen’s face. It makes him dizzy and this time, his arousal hits him like a sucker punch. It’s nothing like panic that accompanies it, though. He wants to reach up and…and…

“Jensen? Should we stop?” Misha regards him with a strange expression, maybe worry, maybe something else. 

“No”, Jensen growls, observing with excitement how Misha’s pupils seem to grow larger by the second. When did their faces drift so close?

Misha almost jumps up from the floor suddenly, surprisingly agile for someone who’s almost fourty. “O…Okay. I’ll bring you a glass of water and you can get up on the couch. _Slowly_." 

Jensen sips at his glass for a bit, but soon switches the water for whiskey. To his surprise, Misha drops down on the mat himself next to Jensen’s feet. “Excuse me for a moment? I think I need a minute or two before starting, too.”

Jensen watches with fascination how quickly all tension drops from Misha’s muscles, all of his limbs falling down next to him like they actually weigh a ton. _So he has practiced this before._

Misha’s lids flutter before he opens his eyes again, pupils small and blue irises bright again. To say that Jensen was awed by the difference would be an understatement.

He remembers to shut his mouth when Misha turns to him with a smile at last. “Okay, I think I’m ready. What about you?”

Jensen nods, although he isn’t so sure anymore. He doesn’t feel so much relaxed as … off-center. Did Misha notice his arousal? Did he feel the same? What did just happen here?

Misha shuffles around a bit, almost as if stalling, which isn’t very reassuring, but finally drops down next to Jensen with his notebook.

“Okay. Let’s do this. I think we already covered that talking about two men in a romantic context doesn’t alarm you, and neither does watching them…except for the whole thing with Tom. This would be a good time for you to explain what went through your head, there.”

Jensen swallows too much whiskey, but manages not to cough it out. “Uh. I really don’t want to talk about it? Sorry Mish. But I promise it was in no way related to my …issues.”

Misha frowns. “Fair enough, I guess. So would you say that watching two men kiss in real life, not only on screen, doesn’t do anything to you? Anything bad, I mean.”

Jensen huffs. “Yeah, no. Nothing bad.”

Misha grins at him, all gums again. Jensen downs the rest of his glass and helps himself to more. This is going to be torture.

“Okay. Let me just cross that out. So what do you think would be the next step?”

Jensen shrugs. “If you’re about to suggest gay porn, I can already tell you that it will probably do nothing.”

Misha, of course, writes down “gay porn” in his notebook. “We will see about that.”

“Misha, I think the problem lies more with…with people perceiving _me_ as gay, and their reaction to it.”

Huh. Jensen hadn’t realized that… well, that he had _realized_. Alcohol was a good thing for the unconscious stuff in his head, apparently.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too. To be completely honest, I’m not sure how to approach this in any other way than…”

Misha bites his lower lip. It’s very distracting. “Mh?”

“Uh. I think you might not like what I’m going to say.”

“Well, if it sends me into a panic just tell me about your high school years or something. But I’m pretty sure I’ll be good.”

Misha turns further towards him, and Jensen must have missed the moment when they had drifted so close again. Misha’s knee is almost brushing his.

“Um, okay. I think we need you to go into situations that would be…gay, I guess. In thought at first, then in private for real, and at the end maybe in public. The beach, for example.”

Jensen swallows. Is this going where he thinks it is going?

“When you say “in private”, do you mean…?”

Misha actually blushes, and it’s really intriguing. Jensen wants to trace the origins of it up to his ears, wonders if the red skin is warmer to the touch than normal. He is dimly aware that he follows its progression with his eyes.

“Me. Um. With me, I mean. If…if you have no other candidate. I guess we could call Jared, I’m sure he would…”

“No.” Oh no, absolutely not. “No Jared. You’re perfectly fine. I mean, um… thank you. That you’re willing to do this for me.”

Misha gives him a strange smile, almost self-depreciating. Jensen wonders what it is like for Misha; if the thought of doing gay stuff with his best friend makes him uncomfortable, or if his usual pragmatism and slight insanity protect him.

“Don’t you worry about me, Ackles. You’re easily the most beautiful person I have ever known.”

A heavy silence settles between them. Jensen stares, and Misha stares back, no trace of shame or worry in his eyes.

Finally Jensen manages a “Thank you”, but he knows it comes out strangled. 

Misha nods and checks something in his notebook. “Receiving super-gay compliments: no problem.”

Oh. _Oh._ The fucker. Of course it was a test. Jensen downs his still full tumbler in one go, not even really feeling the alcohol burning his throat.

“Now, to the trickier part. Since your father witnessing you being anything but perfectly heterosexual seems to be the main issue, I’d deem you imagining him in the same room to be the highest trigger for now. I’d like to try this just this once, today. I think it might get out of hand pretty easily.”

Jensen agrees. Some things, like fooling around on stage with Jared, can be explained away, since they’re obviously not meant seriously. Others, though…

Misha shifts a bit on the sofa, catching Jensen’s eyes from where they have drifted off to the door.

“Are you ready for this, Jen?”

“I… I might freak out, Mish.”

Misha smiles reassuringly. “You’re allowed to freak out. This is an experiment, and we’re at the first stages.”

Jensen breathes deeply. “Okay. Okay, let’s do this.”

Misha is really close. His eyes are very blue in the afternoon light, and there’s something in his expression that Jensen would describe as tender, if he ever needed to determine it.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” Misha begins, voice pitched low and intimate, and Jensen tries to keep in mind that this isn't real, that this is just a scenario. That he’s supposed to imagine his father in the doorway.

“You have the most amazing eyes I've ever seen. Sometimes, in the right light, they’re a vibrant green, and when you smile they almost seem to glow.”

Jensen’s head is a mess. In his mind’s eye, his father is witnessing Misha’s words. Misha’s words which almost sound like poetry, which should be cheesy and gay but feel so _honest_ …Where is Misha taking them from? 

“I wish I could touch your lips.” Misha whispers, and there’s just something about it that completely breaks the mold of what this was supposed to be.

The thought of his father watching is diminishing to a background noise, the mantra of his youth about heterosexuality and manliness and strength drowned out by the enticing movement of Misha's lips around his words.

“I wish I could trace your freckles with my mouth. I wish you would let me see you after you took a shower. I wish I could undress you and paint you on a canvas. I wish I knew… Jensen, are you imagining your father at all?”

Jensen snaps out of the trance Misha lulled him into. Right, his father. His father is standing in the doorway. His father just listened to what Misha said. His father has seen Jensen stare unabashedly at Misha’s lips, has seen him blush, he has probably seen him starting to breathe differently what if he knows what this did to him WHAT IF HE KNOWS

“Jen, Jen, please. Look at me. He’s not really there, you imagined him. Everything is okay. We’re alone, you’re a bit drunk, this was just an experiment.”

Just an experiment. Jensen draws in a shuddering breath, the cold needles at the back of his head and neck like a punishment for his own stupidity. 

But it helps. Nothing happened. His father knows nothing about this, this wasn’t even real, Misha made it up from scratch and Jensen is a fool to get this distracted and then let himself be punched in the stomach by the illusion of his father.

Misha’s eyes are huge and full of guilt for some reason, Jensen notes. His hands are hovering over Jensen’s knees, like he wants to give him comfort but is unsure if he’s allowed, and Jensen isn’t sure if he could bear it right now, either.

First, Jensen doesn’t know what the strangled sound means. He checks himself, but he isn't crying. He feels like it, sure, but there is no tightness in his throat and no wetness in his eyes. 

Then, slowly, he realizes that the sound must have come from Misha, who is still staring at him wide-eyed and desperate, way too desperate and _oh no_.

Jensen pulls Misha against him at his still hovering hands.

“What is it?”

“This is a fucking mess, Jen”, Misha half sobs, half laughs into his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure why I’m losing it right now.”

Jensen smiles into his hair, allowing himself to enjoy their closeness for what it is – comfort given and received between friends. 

“Maybe we should stop with this. It’s not working and I’m not strong enough to…obviously I’m not strong enough to…”

“Shut up, Mish. You’re allowed to be affected by this, too.”

Jensen doesn’t realize how loaded his sentence is until it’s too late, but it’s not like he can take it back, and Misha more laughs than sobs by now, at least.

“If you want to leave, I understand. I don’t want you to… to suffer because of me. I will go into therapy and overcome this somehow, I promise.”

Misha draws back, wiping his cheeks. He doesn’t completely leave Jensen’s arms, though. He just leans against the back of the couch instead of Jensen’s side. Jensen adjusts his limbs so that they’re both comfortable, and then starts to draw circles on Misha’s back like he had done for him a few days earlier.

Misha sighs and closes his eyes. “I still want to do this. But maybe Vicky is right. Maybe I’m not the right person. I’m too involved.”

This could mean any number of things. The thought that maybe Misha’s words didn't come out of nowhere is a persistent little thing at the back of Jensen’s mind. Misha works in strange ways sometimes, and Jensen already knows that he once wrote a poem about him – Misha told him as much, but never let him see it. Jared made fun of him for days for not being able to let his curiosity go. In hindsight, maybe Jared knew something about Jensen’s feelings for Misha way before he himself knew, with all his needling and strange jokes. Jensen really needs to call him.

“What does Vicky have to say about this?” Jensen asks just to distract himself. He’s venturing into very dangerous territory and he needs to stop before his drunk mind convinces itself that Misha _meant_ anything with his compliments.

Misha giggles. “She thinks we’re complete nuts.”

Jensen can't suppress an undignified snort. “Well, she’s unto us.”

___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if you want to follow me on tumblr, I'm no-to-bad-things


	5. Revelations of various natures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the first time that Jensen admits to himself that he thinks this might be working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a quick update because I'll be busy for a while and might not post anything for a week. It's unbeta'd since I couldn't find anyone yet. Will probably edit the chapter later, though.

They end up ordering pizza before continuing with the list. Over fast food and coffee, Misha puts together an impressive assortment of “Gay stuff to do while Mr. Ackles is supposedly watching”. There’s no trace of sadness in him anymore, and Jensen is so glad he doesn’t even protest against the sillier stuff Misha comes up with. (There’s something involving rainbow fedoras that Jensen, in his drunk haze, might have agreed to. He draws the line at fake marrying in Vegas, though.)

“It’s probably better to ease you into this. I suggest we do everything without you actively imagining your father, at first, especially if we’re pretty sure it’s gonna be problematic. I also want to be certain it’s really just the thought of your father witnessing it, and not any … insecurity you might feel.”

“That might get mixed up”, Jensen remarks, trying to be helpful but really just saying what comes to his mind by now. They are more or less brainstorming here, after all.

Misha nods thoughtfully. “That’s a good point. Nevertheless, we should try to keep them separate. In the end, we might have desensitized you against your father’s judgment but enforced your inner homophobe – no offense.”

“None taken. I don’t think that’s likely, though. So, where do we start?”

“Why, with the porn, of course.”

___

If someone had told Jensen a month ago that he would get a boner over gay porn while sitting next to Misha Collins on his couch completely wasted, he’d have ridiculed them mercilessly.

But as these things tend to go, that’s exactly what he’s trying not to acknowledge right now – namely a boner. Over gay porn. While Misha is sitting next to him, looking bored. And he’s also drunk out of his mind, again. The kind of drunk where he actually considers climbing on top of Misha for … for some good reasons.

Jensen clears his throat right as the protagonist, a dark-skinned man with the scary name ‘Hot Rod’, is about to choke some lithe blond youth with his overly large penis.

“Do you think we can stop watching this now? I’m not freaking out, as you can see.”

Misha turns towards him. Jensen prays that his erection isn’t obvious, but doesn’t have much hope. Misha is way too perceptive for his own good sometimes, and he’s probably cataloguing Jensen’s every breath for his notebook anyway.

“How do you feel about imagining your father for this?”

Yeah, okay, woah. The thought kills Jensen’s boner very effectively. He distinctly feels Misha move into his direct line of vision – namely, in front of the door, where Jensen sees his father standing, disapproving frown quickly turning into disgust.

“Jen, not right about now, fuck. I wanted to know if you’re up to it. Jen?”

Jensen tries, he really tries, to concentrate on Misha’s face and voice, but he can’t stop thinking about how he would explain to his father that he watches gay porn with another man while sporting a giant boner. He’s a bad son for doing this when he knows his father will hate him for it. He’s bad. 

Somehow, the thoughts are there but the needles don’t really come. Everything’s foggy. “Mish?” Jensen asks, sounding small and vulnerable even to himself.

“I’m here, Jen. I’m right here. Can you look me in the eye, please?”

Misha is directly in front of him, where five seconds ago, Jensen could only see his father coming closer. His eyes are blue, not hazel, his expression worried, not cruel. It’s just Misha, and Misha would never hurt him.

“I’m going to tell you a story, now, and you will listen, okay?”

“Okay”, Jensen agrees. Why does everything seem so hazy? The only thing that Jensen manages to get a sharp focus on is Misha. It’s like there’s mist in his living room, but that doesn’t make any sense…

“When I was ten, my mother couldn’t afford a Christmas tree. She apologized to us, but promised to save up some money for next year. I was sad because I loved Christmas, and especially the trees with lots of glitter and stuff. Our neighbor Mrs. Moore sometimes looked after us when we came home from school early, and we told her about our problem. She was very upset with us for not talking to her sooner and said that if we came to her earlier, she would have gotten us a real tree. Like this, she could only offer us a small fake one – but it was in good shape and had lots of glitter, much to my delight. My mum told me later that Mrs. Moore used to give her money so that she could buy us each a present.”

Misha pauses, eyes firmly on Jensen. Somehow, what comes out of Jensen’s mouth is: “You are a glitter person?”

“I am. How do you feel?”

Jensen looks at his surroundings. Everything is normal again, except that it’s a lot darker than he suspected, somehow. Must be past eight.  
“I’m okay, I think. Something strange happened. Stranger than usual.”

Without leaving Jensen out of his eyes, Misha goes back around the couch to get the notebook. “Tell me”, he demands, pen poised.

“Uh. Everything was foggy somehow? Everything except you, but at first you were my father? I mean, instead of you, I saw _him_. But then you started to talk to me and it was you, again. Everything else remained weirdly blurred, like in a dream or something.”

Misha frowns, pen apparently forgotten. “What were your exact thoughts?”

Well, fuck. Jensen almost bites through his tongue with nervousness, but if they want to do this, he has to trust Misha. And he can leave one or two things out, surely. He doesn’t see how it’s relevant that he’s crushing on Misha, here.

“Er. Uhm.”

Misha tries to smile at him, but it falls flat. “Jen, I know that’s a super private question, but I think what just happened to you was dissociation. That’…not good, to say the least, and we absolutely have to get to the roots of this to prevent it from happening again.”

Jensen winces at himself for being such a coward. He gets up to take a long pull from the whiskey bottle, walks around a bit to get rid of the last remnants of fog in his periphery, and finally comes to a rest in front of the big window.

He’s aware of Misha standing somewhere behind him, not so close as to crowd him, but close enough to hear him clearly.

“I thought about what he would think about the situation at first. Me watching gay porn with another man on my living room couch, you know? Gay as fuck. But I lost my grasp on reality when… when I imagined him being aware of my…physical reactions.” Jensen pauses and wonders if he should add that that had been the problem with Misha’s compliments, too, but decides against it. Like this, he can pretend it was just the porn. Earlier, it was too obviously Misha.

“I saw his face like I remember it from that day. The disgust and hatred in his eyes, the intent to _hurt_. When you started talking, it was his voice at first, and I was sure he would start telling me how absolutely revolting I am…” Jensen’s voice breaks, and he has to turn around to ground himself in Misha, who looks at him with so much pain in his eyes that Jensen wishes he could take everything back for a moment. “…but he morphed into you almost instantly, thank god.”

Misha closes the distance between them slowly, giving Jensen enough time to tell him no, but there’s nothing Jensen wants more than to bury himself in Misha’s arms right now, so that’s what he’s doing.

He can’t believe his luck; that someone like Misha - wild, unpredictable, beautiful Misha - is here to do this with him, to comfort him, hold him. Jensen tries not to think about it too much, but he’s pretty sure he would never have had the nerve to open up like this with anyone else, never mind a psychologist he didn’t know anything about.

How could he ever pay him back?

Misha tries to navigate them over to the couch, but Jensen tugs him in the direction of the bedroom. The phantom of his father still threatens to appear in the doorway, and he’d rather be in a different room right now.

Jensen closes the door behind them maybe a bit too forcefully, but Misha doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting patiently for Jensen to decide what to do, so Jensen flops down on the bed gracelessly and motions for Misha to do the same.

“I’m very drunk”, Jensen mumbles into the pillows while Misha apparently tries to find a position that doesn’t collide with Jensen’s sprawl. 

“You’re frighteningly adequate for someone who has drunk three beers and half a bottle of whiskey. We should probably try to cut down on the alcohol soon.”

“Mhhh.” Jensen must have switched the pillow for Misha, or otherwise his bedding is breathing today. 

“Are you exhausted?” Misha mumbles after some minutes of careful silence.

“Yeah, but only …I’m not really tired, if that’s what you mean. We haven’t done anything today.”

If Jensen weren’t as drunk as he is, he’d have wagered Misha’s lips were moving into a kiss against his temple. But it must be Misha talking and coming accidentally too close, or something.

“How do you feel about running in the morning? I could use some exercise, and it’s supposed to be good for the psyche.”

“I’m more the gym person, but I guess I could give it a try.” Jensen actually likes the idea of running with Misha, even though he’ll probably shame him. Jensen isn’t as fit as he used to be, and Misha was always the more agile one of them, anyway.

And he’s not going to think about Misha’s agility in any other context than sports, by the way.

“Okay. I’ll wake you at seven, then. Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

Jensen shakes his head, nose moving against Misha’s neck in the process. He tries not to inhale too blatantly.

Misha’s right hand settles in the space between Jensen’s shoulder blades, applying faint pressure.  
“Then we’ll practice the relaxation techniques from earlier. Concentrate on my voice, Jen. Nothing matters but you and me right now.”

Jensen snuggles deeper into Misha, face pressed into his neck, nose nuzzling just behind his ear. He feels more than hears the deep rumble of Misha’s voice, and can’t remember ever having felt this safe and cared for in his entire life.

___

When Jensen wakes, it’s still dark outside. Misha has rolled away from him to the other half of the bed, facing the wall. Jensen turns to look at the digital clock he keeps on his bedside table.

_Huh. Not even six._

Well, it figures, really. He has slept a lot over the past days, drank too much and didn’t go outside at all. (Except for the gallery, but Jensen does his best to completely forget about that day.)

He feels distinctly hung over, but not enough to warrant a pill, so Jensen decides for a shower instead. He creeps over to the bathroom silently so as not to wake Misha, musing over the strangeness of someone to be mindful of in the same bedroom as him, and locks the door.

While standing under the soft stream of hot water, Jensen realizes he hasn’t jerked off in what feels like forever. Maybe that is the reason for the awkward timing of his erections lately. Somehow, he doesn’t feel inclined to solve this right now. He’s a grown man, not a teenager, and somewhere deep down he knows who he would think of if he tried. And although he kind of accepted _some_ of his emotions, he isn’t sure he’s completely okay with others. 

He turns the water from pretty cold to icy because his body apparently hates him and has decided to react to even the faintest reminder of what happened yesterday between him and Misha ( _Nothing happened, you total moron. It’s all in your head_ ) and steps out of the shower shivering, but sober and completely un-aroused. 

Jensen changes into clothes that hopefully pass as casually athletic and goes to prepare coffee. He’s not embarrassing himself without at least a bit of caffeine in his system.

___

As Jensen had feared, Misha totally out-runs him in the first five minutes. It’s not entirely due to his lack of training, though. Actually, Jensen blames it mostly on Misha’s running gear. Apparently, 68 degrees is enough to wear ... well, almost nothing. His shorts aren’t normal one’s like Jensen’s, but _short_ shorts, barely covering half of his thighs, and his shirt is so tight Jensen doesn’t understand how he got into it in the first place. 

He’s staring at Misha’s backside helplessly for as long as possible, admiring the strong muscles in his legs and, yeah okay, his rear. As soon as Misha is too far away, Jensen picks up speed until his lungs protest and he just trails along for some more minutes before finally giving up. He drops down on the grass close to the Air India Memorial, texting Misha to pick him up when he’s done, but adds that he better runs as long as he wants. 

Jensen does some push-ups and sit-ups, pleased that those at least seem to be only marginally harder than some months ago when he still worked out regularly with Jared. And while he thinks about that, he wonders what his co-star might be up to, and finally talks himself into calling him.

___

“Jensen! What’s up?”

Jensen smiles at the familiar voice, vigorous and happy as always. “Hey Jared. Thought I’d call you to catch up.”

There’s some rustling over the line, and the connection gets better. “Have you read the script yet?”

Jensen breathes deeply. He knew this was coming, so no reason to over-react. “Yeah. There’s a lot going on.”

“Tell me about it. Are you gonna do it? Because Singer called and invited me to an extracurricular meeting, but said it was mainly about you and Misha and I didn’t have to come. I figured you had some problems with the kiss?”

It isn’t really a surprise that Jared has picked up on Jensen’s strange behavior towards some questions and implications, both on set and on stage, but it somehow still catches Jensen off-guard. 

“I…There’s lots of …uh. So to completely over-simplify this, I’ve got Misha over and he tries to ease me into this…destiel business.”

Jared has the gall to laugh. “Is this you telling me that you and Misha are doing the do?”

Jensen knows he once again blushes furiously. 

“ _What_? No!”

Jared just keeps laughing. “Well, that’s what it sounds like to me, here.”

“It’s not…it’s nothing like that! Jesus.”

“Calm down, Jen. I was just joking. I know you had some issues with the whole Dean/Cas thing, and to be completely honest I thought you’d tell Singer no.”

Jensen feels his face heat further, this time in shame. 

“Yeah. I actually did exactly that, but… but I hope I’ll… Jared listen, there’s a thing…something preventing me from being cool with this, okay? But, Misha…I mean, Misha is really patient and he’s doing a great job so far and I think we’re going somewhere…”

Jared says nothing for a moment, letting the silence stretch until it’s close to being uncomfortable. 

“Wow, Jen, there’s a lot in there, huh?”

Jensen swallows. “Yeah. Gods, you have no idea. But I think it’s gonna be alright.”

It’s the first time that Jensen admits to himself that he thinks this might be working, might even lead to him being able to do the kiss. He has to cut off the thought immediately. The picture of his father sitting in front of his TV watching him kiss Misha waits at the back of his mind, and he’s way too sober for this.

Jared does the coughing thing that means he’s trying to mask some emotion he hates admitting to.

“You…you’ll tell me, eventually. Right?”

Jealousy, Jensen notes. They know each other for what feels like a lifetime, and he has to admit that he kind of neglected their friendship lately. He should have called sooner. He should have told him when it wasn’t so out of control. 

But Jensen knows he wouldn’t have, ever. He wouldn’t have told anyone, if Misha hadn’t stood right next to him while he had his first real freak-out in years.

“I will tell you, Jay. Eventually. It’s…You know I’m awful at admitting to weaknesses, but this is, like, _huge_ for me. And…And I also might be in love with Misha.”

Well. That certainly wasn’t planned. What the hell? What.the.hell.

“Uh, Uhm. Forget I said that. Oh god. Tell me something, anything. _Quick_.”

“What? What, Jen? Woah, breathe, man, breathe, it’s okay. Don’t freak out, please? So I wanted to wait but, well, you’re supposed to be the godfather anyway, and…Gen’s pregnant!”

Jensen feels yanked around like he’s sitting in a roller-coaster. He can only grip his cellphone tight and hope he won’t crush it.

“ _What_?”

“Yeah, she’s in her fourth month! And it’s gonna be a boy, Jen! A tiny baby boy! I can’t…Are you alright?”

Jensen breathes through his nose. He’s not exactly panicking. He’s not sure what his emotions are doing, to be honest. “It’s…God, that’s great, Jared! I can’t believe it!”

“Right? And we’re gonna name him Thomas! And you are the godfather! I mean, if you want to, of course.”

“Jared, you idiot, of course I want to!” Finally, the reality of what his best friend told him hits, and Jensen lets the euphoria wash over him.  
“Oh my god, you’re going to be a dad! Jared! A dad!”

Jared laughs, voice full of exuberance. “I know! Isn’t it amazing?”

They lose themselves in giddy jokes for a while, spinning tales about Jared bringing his family to the set to create some chaos. They’re in the middle of a scenario involving Thomas, cake and the cable guy when Jensen spots Misha jogging towards him.

“Misha is coming back”, Jensen blurts. Jared goes silent for a moment, but when he speaks, Jensen can hear the grin in his voice. “Well, tell him hi from me. If you want to talk about…you know, call me? I miss you, man.”

Misha stops some feet in front of him, breathing heavily. He starts stretching his legs in a manner Jensen finds instantly distracting. There apparently isn’t room in his head for panic next to all the happiness and confused arousal he currently feels.

“I miss you too. Really. And…I’ll call you as soon as…you know. Promise.”

Jared laughs at him one last time before disconnecting.

Misha is sitting on the grass by now and watches him intently while casually twisting his arms behind his back.

“Who was that?” 

It’s interesting, Jensen thinks, how somehow everyone seems to be jealous today. “Jared.”

“Oh. You’re smiling.” 

“Am I not allowed to?” Jensen makes his voice teasing, trying to convey that this is a game, not a weird …competition. 

Misha spreads his legs wide, bending forward at the hips until his nose almost touches the grass. “Just wondering… nevermind. Did you know they’re doing an art project over at the beach?”

Jensen decides to let him off the hook. Misha’s already getting that special look in his eyes that means he’s about to do something completely unpredictable to escape whatever situation he currently is in, and Jensen is seriously scared it will end in a mess.

“Don’t tell anyone yet, but Gen is pregnant.”

Misha starts grinning like a maniac, leaping up from the grass instantly. “You serious?”

“Absolutely.”

___ 

Things go a bit crazy after that, anyway, with Misha starting to do somersaults, and, gods be good, attracting _people_.  
Jensen is embarrassed until a kid and his girlfriend get out a rope and tie it between two trees, beginning to demonstrate some amazing acts of balance.  
Misha, of course, then borrows various items from the people gathering around them and starts to juggle like a pro, now and then throwing a bottle or a small book over to Jensen whose job it apparently is to throw the items back into Misha’s perfect juggle arc.

It all ends almost an hour later with Jensen and Misha both in fits of laughter and completely drenched in various colors. For some reason, Misha clutches a ruined invitation to a fire breather event. A paintball match had been scheduled at nine in the morning at roughly their location, and they had landed right in the middle of it along with the small crowd Misha and the teenagers had attracted. 

Jensen can’t believe all this has happened in the span of two hours on a Saturday morning, can’t believe he just told Jared he’s in love with Misha, can’t believe how much that is true. Because when he looks at Misha right now, so bright and crazy and strong next to him, the surge of warmth, of _want_ he feels is so telling, so obviously pointing towards one particular direction, that Jensen can’t believe he ever tried to deny it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously, I've completely messed up time lines here, especially with the kids. In case anyone wondered: Misha and Vicky don't yet have kids because I couldn't possibly justify Misha staying away for so long with them at home.


	6. Something keeps me really quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen does notice that Misha has successfully distracted him from his strange reaction, but decides to let it go. It’s not like he plays with open cards, after all, and Misha is the kind of person who either talks about his issues freely or doesn’t talk about them at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, I know this took me ages. I've had exams and personal shit going down and ugh, I'm really, really sorry. Thanks a lot to my new beta-reader, Ivies. You can find them at: lilacivies.tumblr.com

Jensen checks his mail after they both showered and threw their ruined clothes into the washer in a probably futile attempt to get the color off. 

He’s got a message from Singer. It’s headlined “Urgent Business”, and yeah, that doesn’t sound ominous at all. Jensen clicks on it feeling vaguely alarmed, but it only contains the date and time for their special meeting, followed by a distinctly unpleasant sounding closing phrase.

“Mish? Singer wants us over in ten days from now. Tuesday, half past three.”

Misha steps closer, leaning over Jensen’s shoulder to read. He smells like his lime shampoo and, for some reason, watermelon. 

“Huh, that sounds pretty impersonal, don’t you think?” He squints at the screen like he can’t quite believe the words. “Not like him at all.”

“Yeah. Check your mail, too. Maybe he wrote more there.”

He didn’t. “He” was probably only his secretary, though, so maybe it didn’t mean anything.

“Don’t worry about it, Jen. We’ll figure it out as we go. You’ve other stuff to concentrate on, for now.”

Jensen nods, and then frowns when Misha winces while moving to stand up from the couch. “You alright?”

Misha waves his concern away. “Must have pulled a muscle earlier. I’m out of practice.”

Jensen debates with himself for approximately two seconds before he tells himself: to hell with it.

“Wasn’t there something about a massage on our list?”

Misha’s eyes go wide for a moment, but he quickly covers his surprise by laughing. “The massage is for you, Jen, not me.”

“It’s a lot more challenging when I’m the one doing it, though. And you’re in need of one, so I don’t see the problem here. Except if you don’t want my hands on your precious legs, of course.”

Misha’s laughter ends in a coughing fit, and Jensen allows himself a small moment of triumph. It’s quickly dissipating when he notices the doubt on Misha’s face though. Or maybe not doubt, more like…nervousness? 

Misha catches himself almost immediately, face going carefully blank before he puts on his particular fake smile like a mask. Jensen hates it.

“You know what? You’re right. I’m not turning down a free massage from Mr. Biceps himself.”

“Mr. Biceps? Seriously?” Jensen sputters, but secretly he's beyond pleased.

“Come on, Jen, spare me your fake modesty. It’s not fair; you’re not even exercising, are you?”

“I do push-ups in the morning! Well, not so much lately. But I think maybe we can combine your early morning run and my work-out in the park?”

Misha smiles. “Yeah, absolutely. Although I’m not sure I’m running anywhere with that leg.”

Jensen does notice that Misha has successfully distracted him from his strange reaction, but decides to let it go. It’s not like he plays with open cards, after all, and Misha is the kind of person who either talks about his issues freely or doesn’t talk about them at all.

“Alcohol?”

“No.” Jensen replies firmly. “I’m not attempting a massage inebriated. And to be completely honest…I’m not sure alcohol helps at all with the panic. It helps getting me into situations that might cause it, but not with the situation itself, it seems.”

Misha frowns. “That…makes sense. So no alcohol from now on?”

Jensen gets up too to fold out the couch. “Let’s just try this without booze and see where we end up.”

“Okay. But…I thought about it. Since we decided to leave your father out as a trigger completely for now we might concentrate on your defenses.”

Misha had followed him into the bedroom without hesitation, and Jensen muses about the fact that that doesn’t feel strange at all. Well, they have slept together in here for the past couple of nights. He finds the old blanket he was looking for and throws it at Misha, nodding.  
“I think you might be right. What exactly are my defenses, though?”

Misha starts to limp back into the living room and Jensen allows himself a quick scan of his backside. He’s wearing grey sweatpants that bring out the curve of his buttocks nicely. He almost misses Misha’s next words, he’s so distracted.

“Well, so far only I seem to be working as a diversion tactic. Sorry. We should start thinking about what else might help, as well as keep practicing relaxation. I won’t always be around, after all. And you probably need to stay sociable until we resolve your issues.”

It sounds logical, and yet Jensen doesn’t like it. 

“Wouldn’t it be better to…I don’t know, to confront…myself?”

Misha has finished pulling the blanket over the couch and sits down, staring at Jensen in what seems to be honest surprise. “Are you serious?”

Jensen shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m not sure. Maybe? It’s just that… My reactions seem to get worse instead of better.”

Misha pulls his shirt over his head like it’s nothing, and Jensen has to swallow. “I wouldn’t say there hasn’t been any progress. You’ve stopped an attack by yourself, after all.”

He actually starts to wriggle out of his pants, and Jensen forces himself to look into Misha’s face instead of…somewhere else.

“Uh, I…Yeah. It seems easier to handle situations I already freaked out about.”

“Hm.” Misha lies down face-first, and immediately Jensen’s eyes fall down to his ass again. Dammit, the fucker wears the tightest pair of black boxers Jensen has ever seen. 

“We could probably use that.”

Yeah. They could kiss, and Jensen would freak out. Then they could kiss again, and again, until he wouldn’t freak out anymore... The thought scares Jensen as much as it excites him. He’s trying not to linger on the fact that it would only make sense if he imagined a certain someone watching them. Jensen shakes his head sharply, trying to dislocate the familiar coldness at his neck, and grabs for the massage oil Misha placed on the table.

“How do you like it?” he asks, sitting down next to Misha’s hips gingerly while warming the oil in his hands.

Misha throws a smirk over his shoulder. “Rough.”

Jensen closes his eyes in what feels a bit like despair and starts working. 

___

It goes pretty well for a while. Jensen concentrates on Misha’s (very nice) back muscles and doesn’t pop a boner, although he seems to be constantly battling some low-level arousal anyway. But the problem isn’t Misha’s back, it’s his left leg, and slowly but surely, Jensen’s hands work from Misha’s shoulders down his spine until he kneads the skin just above the waistband of his boxers.

“Good?” he asks just to distract himself from the desire to push his hands under the fabric.

Misha makes a rumbling sound, almost a moan. “You’re amazing at this, Jen. Don’t stop.”

Jensen chuckles. “I’ll move to your legs now. Tell me where it aches most.”

When his hands finally touch the coarse hairs on Misha’s thigh gingerly, Misha’s breath hitches and Jensen pulls away nervously. “What? Are you ticklish?”

“No, I…was surprised. Go on.”

Jensen bites his lip. He’s fucking losing his nerve right here, but he got himself into this mess and he’ll work through this no matter what. Because Misha is his friend and he aches and deserves to be spoiled, and because this is a test. Because he wants to prove to Misha that he doesn’t need alcohol for his inhibitions anymore. Not because he gets a thrill out of it or anything. Not because he actually wants to slip his hands between Misha’s legs to feel if he’s hard, not because he wants to see if Misha’s ass is as firm as it looks, not because… 

“Jen? Are you alright?”

Misha pushes himself up on his elbows, twisting his neck until he can look Jensen in the eyes. It brings out his neck muscles nicely and - 'Dammit, fucking concentrate!'

“Fine. Lie down, I’ve got you.”

Misha does as he’s told without protest. The hairs on his arms and neck stand up, Jensen notices. “Are you cold?”

“I…no.”

“Okay, then. Relax. I’m going to start on the good leg.”

Before he can over-think this again, Jensen spreads oil over Misha’s thigh and presses his fingers in; marveling over the slight give, the involuntary tension that quickly dissipates again when he pushes between two muscle cords just right.

Misha moans, softly, breathless, and damn, but Jensen can feel it down to his toes. When his fingers wander to the insides of Misha’s thighs where the skin is vulnerable and the hairs softer to the touch, Misha stifles a sound against his arm that makes Jensen harder than he has been in days. And then Misha moves his hips.

It’s tiny, and if Jensen didn’t have his hands right next to the guy’s crotch he would never have noticed the slight rolling push that makes Misha muffle what would definitely have been a whimper otherwise.

“Jen”, he rasps. “Maybe we should stop.”

Yes. Yes maybe they should, because Jensen is about to come in his pants. 

“I’m so sorry”, Misha rambles, already starting to get up. “It’s just… I guess it has been a while and …and I swear it has nothing to do with you…”

It should quell the wave of excitement that has started to roll through Jensen, but it only sparks something that feels dangerously like injured pride.

Jensen finds that his hands somehow went to Misha’s hips in the past seconds. He grips the flesh tight while not so accidentally pressing his thumbs into Misha’s ass cheeks and pushes his pelvis back down into the cushions. Misha doesn’t even get the chance to suppress his groan this time, and Jensen smiles in triumph. 

“Calm down, Mish. It’s okay, just relax.” He hopes his words come out gentle, not gleeful.

Misha takes a deep breath, but nods and starts to gradually let go of the tension in his body again.

“That’s it. I’ll move to your other leg now, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for Misha’s confirmation, just gets up and settles on the other side of Misha for better range before basically groping the as of yet untouched set of muscles. 

Misha makes a pained sound as soon as Jensen kneads the major muscle group of his inner thigh. “Here?”

“Yeah. I think it’s either the vastus medialis or gracilis.”

Jensen chuckles. “Whatever. I’ll go gently at first, but as soon as it doesn’t hurt anymore, tell me and I will increase the pressure. Same procedure until you can’t stand the pain anymore. Got it?”

Misha twists his neck so that he can see Jensen in his periphery, but doesn’t try to lift his head this time. “Did you do a workshop on this or something?”

“Nah. Danneel was very fond of massages, though, and I picked up a thing or two.”

They don’t talk a lot after that anymore, Misha only voicing discomfort via grunts and Jensen not saying anything, concentrating on the massage. Danneel used to say that you can mess up muscle pains easily when you don’t do it right, so he takes this seriously. Thankfully, his arousal retreats to a manageable level, too, so the next twenty minutes are actually enjoyable.

___

“That’s absolutely amazing, Jen! It doesn’t hurt at all anymore!”

Misha sounds seriously in awe, and Jensen knows he visibly preens. “Stand up and we’ll see for sure. But slowly.”

He doesn’t even realize that his oily hand is resting firmly on the small of Misha’s back until Misha takes a step away. “Incredible. I don’t feel a thing!”

Jensen grins, pleased. “So you think we can do the sport thing tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. But right now I’m starved, what do you say?”

“Hell yeah. Let me clean up. How do you feel about going for an early dinner and then we could maybe check out the fire breather thing? I know you die to try it.”

Misha’s smile is soft as he turns away. “Okay.”

___

They chose a fairly upper class restaurant just down the street. The air between them is strangely light, like they’re celebrating something but don’t know what exactly. Misha keeps throwing Jensen these looks, like he’s about to say something but doesn’t have the words, and Jensen spends entirely too much time smiling to himself. 

The chef knows Jensen and leads them to a secluded corner, but two women recognize them before they’re even seated. The bolder looking one asks for an autograph, barely veiling her delight when they comply under the condition that she doesn’t publish their location.

“They are lovers”, Misha remarks once they’re seated.

Jensen looks back at the two doubtfully. The dark-haired one snickers into her napkin, already alarmingly red in the face, while her friend looks vaguely embarrassed. “How can you tell?”

Misha shrugs, nonchalantly flipping through the menu. “The way they look at each other.”

Jensen tries to see it, but he doesn’t. To him, it’s only two friends having fun on a Saturday night, like he and Misha do. Well, okay, maybe not the best example of “just friends”. Before Jensen can examine the thought too closely, Misha speaks again.

“Look how they’re angling their bodies towards each other. Notice their feet, and how the blonde keeps throwing the waiter warning glances when he gets too flirty with her girlfriend.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “We haven’t even been here five minutes. Are you some kind of detective?”

Misha gets out a lighter and ignites the candle in the middle of their table. Looking straight through the flame at Jensen, he says: “I just know what it looks like” with an intensity that would do Castiel justice. He’s reminded of a scene they filmed what feels like ages ago – they had been hung-over and not used to each other yet, and since they had forgotten their exact lines due to violent headaches, they were forced to improvise. ‘What were _you_ dreaming about?’

Jensen isn’t sure if he is glad or disappointed when Misha’s expression morphs into politeness as soon as the waiter approaches. He has a distinct arrogance to him and speaks in a heavy Italian accent that seems entirely fake.

“Good evening, Gentlemen. I see you have helped yourself to a romantic atmosphere already. May I ask what you’d like to drink?”

Jensen knows his smile is a bit forced, but he orders wine for the both of them without dropping it until the waiter turns his back on them.

“He thought we’re a couple based on a candle”, Jensen mutters, astonished. Misha says nothing, just kind of stares at him like he’s really in full Castiel mode. His eyes appear ridiculously large and dark in this light, and Jensen has to forcibly remind himself that stuff like ‘falling into an abyss’ and ‘losing himself’ are only being used in the worst kind of novels and he really needs to get a grip.

Finally, when Jensen starts to positively squirm under Misha’s gaze, he asks, maybe a bit too harshly: “What?” 

Misha snaps his eyes down like he’s just remembering that it’s not polite to stare. “You’re not freaking out at all.”

Oh. That’s right. He’s in public, and a random guy assumed he was gay. 

“I…guess?” Jensen finally says. And then Misha reaches over the table and takes his hand. And holds it. Like they’re _an actual couple_.

Jensen doesn’t know what to do, so he does nothing. Misha turns his hand around gently and intertwines their fingers, but Jensen can only swallow and reread the page with the pasta a third time because, well, he’s completely out of his league, here. (And when he says “reread” he means “pretend to look at the card while really looking at Misha”.)

The waiter comes back with their bottle of wine and two glasses, not reacting to their clasped hands at all.

“Have the Gentlemen decided on a main course?”

“I…I’d … take the… uh, pizza.”

“The pizza”, the waiter repeats incredulously, curling his lip like he believes Jensen to be the stupidest guest he has had the displeasure to serve in a while. “With…?”

“Uh. Mushrooms. And tomatoes. And…Chicken?” Jensen must look like an idiot, but he just can’t seem to get a grip on his thoughts right now. Misha’s thumb has started stroking across the palm of his hand, and Jensen feels his fingers twitch with the stimulation.

“I’d like to have the risotto with shrimps, please. And maybe a glass of water for my partner, here.”

Misha sends the waiter what can only be described as a conspiratorial smirk, and the man has the audacity to smirk back. He winks, _winks_ at Misha before turning around with a flourish, heading back to the counter.

Jensen is sure something is going on, but he can’t grasp a normal thought long enough to figure it out. Misha has started to play with his fingers.

“You look ridiculously handsome when you’re blushing.” Misha smiles, the light of their single candle casting a soft glow on his features that makes him look misleadingly …harmless.

Jensen hasn’t even been aware of blushing, but he’s pretty sure that, by now, he’s scarlet in the face.

“I…”

Misha’s thumb drops to his pulse point, slowly caressing the tender skin there, and Jensen forgets what he wanted to say. _Again._

“You’re doing so well, Jen.” 

When one of the girls behind them gasps at something or other (possibly them), Jensen finally snaps out of it with a flinch, jerking his hand back like he’s been burned. For just a moment, Jensen thinks he sees regret forming in the corner of Misha’s mouth, but it could have been the shadow of the flame.

Misha quickly draws his own hand back and goes for his wine glass. Jensen knows it’s no use to tell himself that he doesn’t miss Misha's rough fingertips against his skin already.

“Was it hard?” Misha wants to know, expression carefully neutral again, and Jensen just about had it with this particular mask. It makes him angry, that Misha thinks he has to pretend with him.

“No”, he says, and before he can stop himself: “I liked it.”

Misha’s grin hits him like a punch in the gut. It’s the one where he shows all his teeth again, the one that makes Jensen weak in the knees. Before he even knows what is happening their hands are touching again.

Jensen doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of their meal, sure he’s looking like the besotted fool in a third-class movie, and not caring at all.

___

They enter the park pleasantly buzzed but not overly so, arms brushing now and then. Jensen wonders what they are to each other while Misha has one of these phases where he just comments on everyone and everything they pass.

“Vicky went to a tree school once. Do you know what a tree school is? See the one over there, it’s a golden aspen, but it’s got some kind of lice I think, the color of the leaves is off. Oh, and, did I tell you about that one time we went to Australia and had this really unfortunate accident in the middle of nowhere…”

Jensen lets the words wash over him and enjoys the sound of Misha happy. He can’t help but believe that it’s because of him, because of …well, them. Is there a “them”? Are they flirting? Because Jensen has never been that great with it, but he’s pretty sure that’s what they’re doing.

“…and then she was totally hitting on Vicky while I stood right next to her! But she helped us with the van and well, she was over fifty but I guess it’s hard to tell with some women, and I’m not sure if Vicky actually…”

Could he? Be with Misha? Would Misha even want him to?  
The question surprises Jensen so much he stops walking.

Does he want to be with him?

“Jen? What’s the matter?” Misha squints at him, not even an arm length away. “Did I say something…?”

“No! No, it’s nothing. Just had a… uh. Revelation.”

Misha smirks at him and resumes walking. “The good kind, I hope.”

Jensen doesn’t trip over his own feet, but it’s a close call.

“I’m…not entirely sure yet.”

Misha nods solemnly. “That kind. I know all about it. Oh, look! I think we found it.”

Misha starts hurrying towards what is already a pretty big crowd. The air feels hotter the closer they get, and Jensen can see four people already spinning various burning objects that seem to be attached to long chains. Misha starts into a jog and doesn’t limp at all.

___

Jensen doesn’t know how it happened, but he sits on the grass behind the fire breathers, watches Misha spin burning torches into the air to the instructions of a pretty brunette woman, and feels drunk. There hasn’t been any alcohol since the restaurant, so he guesses it’s the heat and all the background noise and maybe a bit the way Misha twists around to the cheers of the crowd.

He’s always been a people’s person, Jensen muses when Misha catches a particularly daring throw and everyone claps for him. Unlike Jensen, Misha knows how to move the mass, how to make them laugh or cry or smile teary-eyed. Jensen just feels awkward around too many people. He thinks he’s doing okay most of the time, but there have been instances at cons where he just _knew_ he said the wrong thing but could never figure out how to set it right again. He hates to disappoint the fans, yet he seems to be doing it a lot. Misha never does. Even when he insults them, they cheer him on. Well, Jensen has to admit Misha has a very charming way to insult people. All backhanded and self-depreciating and you only realize you have been mocked when he’s already in the next room.

“Jen!” Misha waves at him while jumping over a rope two of the others spin round under his feet with ease, all the while still juggling the torches. His grin is contagious, and Jensen doesn’t hold back whatever shows on his face.

The dark haired woman that has been flirting with Misha for a while now looks at him suspiciously, and then, for reasons completely unknown to Jensen, nods. Jensen nods back because it’s probably what he’s supposed to do, and she seems satisfied. 

Misha throws her the torches with a warning glance Jensen can’t quite put into perspective and makes his way over to the tree Jensen is sitting under. The way his skin glistens in the fire light lets Jensen’s mouth go dry with want.

“This is so much fun! I have to try it at home sometime, Vicky will love it!”

“You only say that because you think it makes you look sexy.”

Misha grins. “Yeah. Well, it does, doesn’t it?”

Jensen gives a non-committal shrug, but he’s not even fooling himself, never mind Misha. “And it might kill you and everyone you love.”

“Well, danger is my middle name! Come on, if we want to get up early tomorrow we should head back.”

 

Jensen swallows, vaguely motioning to Misha’s bare chest. “Where’s your shirt?”

“Huh? Must have lost it. Wanna race?”

Misha gives him a hand up and neither one comments on how they stand too close for a bit too long, or how it’s not really necessary to keep on holding hands for several seconds. Finally, they turn away from each other in perfect sync and start to run.


	7. All good things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen frowns, thinks that this might be his line, but nods. Alan rolls his eyes, but keeps talking through the heavy breathing as if he wants to get it out as quickly as possible. “The night I caught you with that boy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

Jensen invites Misha into his bed again, and this time he doesn’t try to make it sound harmless. Misha climbs in beside him after they both took a shower, and although Jensen thinks they are okay, he can’t help but notice that Misha seems tense.

Jensen turns around so he’s facing him. There’s not much light in the room, but it’s enough to let him see the outline of Misha’s face and the glimmer of his eyes.

“What is it?” He whispers because it seems befitting of the atmosphere.

Misha huffs a quiet laugh, but doesn’t reply for long minutes. Finally, when Jensen is about to give up and turn over again, he sighs: “I’m…Are we on the same page here?”

Oh, well. They’re going to talk about it, then. Jensen isn’t sure if he feels afraid or relieved.

“That depends, but I think so. What page are you on?”

He knows it’s the cowardly answer, but Misha has always been much braver than him, and Jensen hopes he’ll forgive him for reflecting the question.

Misha shuffles closer until their noses are almost touching. The way his heart picks up its pace and his lungs don’t seem to get enough air anymore make Jensen feel like he’s sixteen again. 

“Have we been…flirting?”

Somehow, Jensen expected him to take a more direct approach, but he’s perfectly fine with this. Actually, he’s grateful.

“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes”, Jensen mumbles “but yeah, I think we have been flirting.”

“Oh.” Misha shifts against him until his lips touch Jensen’s forehead. “Okay.”

Jensen moves their hands until Misha’s arm is curled around him. He snuggles further into his chest, inhaling deeply, and realizes that he’s never felt more secure in his entire life.

___

In the middle of the night, Jensen’s phone rings – except that it doesn’t just ring, it’s screaming, which can only mean one thing: the emergency tone his mother set for all of them is going off. Jensen is up and half-way across the room before his eyes are completely open.

“Yes?”

He can hear his mother sob hysterically right into the speaker before she manages: “Jensen, oh gods, it’s Alan…”

“What happened?” His own voice sounds flat, distant.

“I…I was out with friends and when I came back he just…he just lay there and I… the doctors said it’s really dire, they took him to the hospital, I…”

“Mom, it’s okay, I’ll take the next plane. Everything…” Jensen takes a huge gulp of air before he makes himself say it: “Everything is gonna be alright, Mom. Call the others, they’ll be quicker.”

“Yes, right yes. I’ll write you as soon…as soon as I know anything.”

“Right.” Jensen hangs up and just stares at the faint outline of his cupboard for a moment.

“Jen?” Misha approaches carefully like he always does when he suspects Jensen is about to freak out. He slips around him so Jensen can ascertain where exactly he is. “What is it? You look like…oh. Who?”

Jensen swallows. “My father. Hospital, something…mum says it’s bad.”

“Fuck.” Misha starts into action instantly, switching the lights on and throwing his backpack on the bed. “Call your agency, they’re more expensive than mine. We need the next best flight to Texas. Come on, Jen.”

Misha puts a comforting hand on his shoulder and Jensen finally snaps out of it. Right, he needs to hold it together now, because this might be all about time. He tries not to think about it, but knows that he’d never forgive himself if he …if he were too late.

“I…You are coming with me?”

Misha halts for a moment, wariness clear on his face. “Only if you want me to.”

“Yes. Please.”

Misha smiles at him, but it’s a grim thing. “Call them, we can talk on the plane.”

Jensen dials the number.

___

They manage to be on the plane to Dallas at five in the morning by some miracle. Jensen has received two texts from his mother so far: one contains just the name of the hospital; the second tells him that apparently, they took his father into surgery. 

Jensen thinks that he should feel like crying, but in reality he just feels numb. He had two attacks since they departed, one because he got the idea in his head that someone must have taken a photo of Misha and him in the restaurant yesterday and published it after some girls snickered at them at the airport, and the other because he managed to convince himself that that must also be the reason for whatever illness has befallen his father. He has seen it clearly: his father opening an e-mail and attached to it the undeniable proof that his son was a flaming queer.  
Misha managed to calm him down only by admitting that he already did a quick internet search and had found nothing but the usual rumors about them. 

Misha is texting furiously next to him, and Jensen finally pulls himself together enough to lean over. “Who are you writing?” Misha hunches his shoulders, pausing in his tipping but not looking up. “Vicky.”

Jensen knows they probably should stay away from that topic right now, but everything must be better than thinking about his father, right? Misha adds: “I…we had a late-night phone call after you fell asleep.”

Oh, right. They have this thing between them that they kinda sorta acknowledged yesterday. And Misha is married. Misha has a wife and he’s been married to her for an eternity and of course he would tell her the moment…the moment something happened.

“Is…how are… I mean, I don’t know if I could…” _share you._

Misha sighs. It’s a long, weary one. “Are you sure we should be talking about this right now?”

Jensen frowns and turns to the window. The sun is already up above the clouds. 

“I might be emotionally unstable right now, but then again, I usually am about…this. I’d prefer to…to be completely clear about us before I…” _before I see my father again. Maybe for the last time._

Misha makes a sound then, something between a sob and a sigh, but it’s close-lipped and almost silent. Jensen whips his head around to catch Misha trying to turn away. There are no tears in his eyes, but what’s in them instead is somehow worse.

“I could never leave her. I’m sorry.” It sounds desperate, but also definitive. 

Jensen breathes. It’s nothing he didn’t expect, but it also complicates the whole affair to a point where it’s almost ridiculous. He doesn’t want to share Misha, but on the other hand, he can barely hold hands with him in public. Vicky is lovely and great, and right now he hates her a bit for being the person she is, for making it impossible to be self-righteous about the whole thing.

He’s also a closeted homophobe with panic attacks and a dying father. He doesn’t deserve Misha, certainly not as Vicky does, and it will forever be a riddle why Misha feels he’s worth all the time and effort.

And yet, even though Jensen knows all this, knows he shouldn’t get in the way of what must be a nearly perfect marriage, he doesn’t even for a moment consider giving up now. He’s selfish like that; he wants Misha in his life, in his bed, maybe in his shower one morning. He wants the flowers and the movies and romantic candlelight dinners. He doesn’t want the public outing or the on-screen kiss, but he will deal. He will deal.

“Alright.” Jensen says. “Okay.”

He takes Misha’s hand and closes his eyes. It’s a long flight and he’ll need all his energy later.

___

When they arrive at the hospital, Jensen’s whole family is already there. Josh looks like he just stopped crying, and Mackenzie tries to comfort their mother while at the same time trying to hug Jensen as tight as possible.

Everybody nods at Misha, and nobody asks any questions. 

His mother finally takes a step forward, Mackenzie close to her back. In case she drops, Jensen realizes with a pang.

“Jen, I didn’t want to tell you on the phone, but…They say it might be quick now. The nurses, they…are doing something to him, I don’t know, but they sent us out. You should…You should go in. He wants to talk to you alone.”

Jensen’s mind tries to shut down, but Misha’s hand on the small of his back helps. He uses the slightest pressure, comfort and warning. Your last chance, Jensen realizes. This is your last chance.

He nods at Misha, tries to take the warmth and compassion of his eyes with him into this con-versation, and turns abruptly when the nurses come out of room number 204. “You can go back in. I’m afraid he refuses to take any pain medication, though”, one of them says, throws them all a pitying look and hurries away.

Jensen breathes deeply, and opens the door.

___

His father looks incredibly frail on the bed. Everything is glaringly white, from the walls to the sheets and the devices around his father. He’s breathing strangely, like it’s enormously hard to draw enough air.

Jensen’s throat closes up, but he makes it to a chair and takes his father’s hand into his. “Dad? It’s Jensen.”

Alan turns his head around and stares at him, eyes sunk deeply into his face. “I might be dying, but I’m not blind”, he rasps, and Jensen feels tears run down his cheeks even when a startled laugh escapes him.

“Son. Jensen. There is something I need to tell you before I can’t do it anymore.”

Jensen frowns, thinks that this might be his line, but nods. Alan rolls his eyes, but keeps talking through the heavy breathing as if he wants to get it out as quickly as possible. “The night I caught you with that boy?”

Jensen starts to rip his hand away like he’s been burned, but catches himself almost instantly. “I remember” he rasps, because there’s nothing else to say, and there’s no panic but the one he feels over his father dying.

His father squeezes his fingers. “I’m sorry. I was stupid. Blind and stupid. I never forgave myself.”

Jensen doesn't know what to do. He wants to know why he did it, or why they never talked about it, how he let this wait until the day he was dying, but nothing comes out of his mouth. 

“My reasons are a tragedy, Jensen, but I will never speak of it, certainly not now. It doesn’t excuse anything” his father interrupts himself with deep, awful rasping breaths before pressing on: “and it will never rectify what I did to you.”

Jensen feels anger at the words, but also relief. He wanted to hear that. He wanted to shout and fight about it, but he wanted an apology first and foremost. 

“I forgive you” he says. “I have something to tell you, too.”

His father cackled, then coughed. “You might have to hurry, son.”

Jensen squeezes his eyes shut against the sardonic twist of his father’s face. Jensen wants to tell him about the attacks, how he has suffered and how it impacted his work, but that would be like a punishment, like a contradiction to his forgiveness. So he settles for: “I’m in love with Misha Collins.”

His father does a strange thing: he laughs. It’s brittle and interrupted by coughing, but it’s real. Jensen doesn’t know what to do, so he adds:  
“He’s waiting outside.”

Alan wheezes, then presses a knob on one of the medical devices around him. “Send him in when you leave. And after that, only your mother, please. I think I’ve got some more minutes.”

Jensen knows a dismissal when he hears one, and he’s afraid to ask what his father has to say to Misha, but he’s not going to ignore a dying wish. 

“I love you, Dad”, he says, not denying the tears. His father squeezes his hand again. “I love you too, son. Now go.”

___

Misha steps out of room 204 looking sad, but not devastated, and Jensen takes it as a good sign. Their mother nods at Misha holding the door for her and vanishes inside looking suddenly more together than all of them combined.

“Do they know what it is?” Jensen asks Mackenzie to fill the silence. Misha excuses himself and promises to bring coffee.

“The doctor told us that his coronary arteries were clogged, which led to a heart-attack. They tried to help with medication and the surgery, but there was already too much water in his lungs, she said. And…dad told them not to use further…further life-sustaining measures.” Mackenzie takes the napkin Josh offers and blows her nose. “Doctor said it wouldn’t have made it better, just…longer.”

Jensen nods. He feels empty somehow. All that has bothered him in the last few weeks seems insignificant now, in the eyes of death. Around them, it’s busy. People with flowers hurry by, overworked nurses and doctors in all their white talk rapidly between themselves while downing probably too hot coffee, the cleaning stuff tries to keep up with all the hectic. 

It’s routine, Jensen thinks. Parents die here every day.

___

Misha goes home to Vicky only after Jensen assures him that he’d be fine. They’d meet up as soon as Jensen gave his okay to Singer to hold the delayed meeting.

Jensen is awfully busy over the day, trying to help his mother organize the surprising amount of issues that come up when a person dies. There’s an extensively detailed testament, a whole room full with documents, too many relatives, the media. And the actual funeral.

At night, he never sleeps because thoughts of what should have been plague him, and when it gets so bad he can barely breathe, he calls Misha.  
Misha tells him about Vicky trying to deal with the situation, trying to understand. There’s a lot of shouting, Misha admits one early morning, when they’re both exhausted enough to tell each other things better left unsaid. “She mentioned divorce twice now, Jen.”

Jensen sighs. “I want you to be happy. I know you can’t be happy without her, so maybe you should…I don’t know, Mish. Tell her you love her. Tell her that if …if it’s not at all possible for her, we’ll not…we’ll not.”

Misha says nothing for a long time. When the birds start singing and Jensen almost loses his fight against sleep, he murmurs: “Where would that leave us, though? Once I start, I never stop loving people, Jen.”

It’s the closest to a confession they’ve come, but it doesn’t taste sweet. How could he have thought that Misha and him…that it could work? How did he avoid thinking of Vicky, when Vicky is the one who would be hurt the most? 

“I…Mish, the funeral is today. We’ll … we’ll talk after, okay?”

Misha sighs. “Yeah, okay. I…Be well, Jen.”

“You, too.”

___

The funeral takes place at their hometown, like Alan wanted. A lot of people are there, family, friends, colleagues, fans. No media, though. His mother had almost hurt that one guy who dared to come to their door with a camera.

It’s heart-wrenching in that way only funerals can be, where everyone only talks about the good things, remembers funny instances that are followed by crying and kids asking questions nobody dares to answer quite like they want. Jensen overhears Josh telling their seven year old cousin that Uncle Alan was in a better place now, where the sun is always shining and watching Football the whole day is a thing nobody frowns at, then needs to backpedal because she wants to go to that wonderful place immediately. 

Jensen tries to keep an eye on his mother, who had been awfully quiet since she came out of that room and told them it was over. She seemed to talk to people only if absolutely necessary, otherwise hiding in the kitchen or the loo. When the coffin had been let down to the grave, she’d lost it for a moment, wailing and sobbing into Jensen’s chest like the hurt she was feeling couldn’t be borne by her tiny frame.

Now, she is quiet again, but it’s another kind of quiet, Jensen believes. She seems calmer, more at peace, and Jensen hopes that she’ll stay that way. He has suggested to her to come back for a while, but she didn’t want to hear about it. Josh would stay, and Jensen admits to himself that he’s far better suited for providing emotional comfort, anyway.

He leaves three days after the funeral, feeling sad and anxious.

___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took me so long because for no reason whatsoever, I started another cockles fic. And yeah, I think this one is gonna be ten chapters.


	8. Interlude: Vicky and Misha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a woman who has read dozens of works about this sort of situation, Vicky feels remarkably unprepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go - An Interlude about Vicky's perspective.

As a woman who has read dozens of works about this sort of situation, Vicky feels remarkably unprepared. It’s not even that she didn’t see it coming – after all, Misha told her months ago that he was falling in love with Jensen Ackles, and even though she knew that the chances that it was mutual were rather slim, they never were nil. 

Now, sitting across from Misha on the table he made her as a wedding gift, Vicky forces herself to remember what she had felt. Fury, first and foremost, and then disappointment, and then regret. She has always known, theoretically, that it could happen one day – but she has always been certain that it would be _her_ who’d fall in love again. Vicky wonders if she’d fight harder this time around. If she’d fight like Misha fights now. 

“You ask me to accept Jensen like you didn’t accept Miriam.” Vicky can’t help it – it comes out bitter. She hates that she’s so petty, but it _hurts_. ‘I guess now I know how he must have felt back then.’

“I’m sorry”, Misha mumbles, and Vicky wonders if anyone has ever seen him like that – small and unsure, shoulders drawn in, eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t…I should never have come between you. I regret that.”

‘Now. _Now_ you regret it.’ She manages to keep her mouth shut, though. There are more important things to speak of.

“Will you leave me?”

Misha jerks his head up, eyes wide. “No, I’d never… I love you.”

Vicky sighs. She doesn’t want it to, but the tender smile is already coming forth. She’ll never get tired of these words. Except that now, she won’t be the only one hearing them. The thought tastes like bile on her tongue.

“You wanted kids.”

Her husband flinches again, but he manages to restore eye contact. As a psychologist, she is proud. As a wife, it makes her frown. 

“I still want kids with you.”

“And how will Jensen fit into that picture?”

Ironically, her mind chooses that very moment to provide her with a long list of possibilities, a few of them products of her own musings on the topic. Why does the scenario suddenly seem so impossible?

“I don’t even know if he wants to…try. I feel like bringing kids into this would be presumptuous on more than one account. ”

Well, Vicky can agree with this. She also knows she’s not able to see this through. Or at least, not right now. She needs to find the rational part of herself and then try to combine it with the emotional mess inside of her. She needs _time_.

Vicky stares at her husband, feels the years pass between them, the most beautiful and the worst of days, the long nights, the silences, the challenges and victories and failures. They have been through so much; it would be foolish of her to give it up in a matter of seconds because of some strong sense of betrayal. And yet…

“I can’t decide this right now, honey. I’m sorry.”

Misha just nods and looks like he’ll take whatever she’s willing to give him. “I’ll leave for a while.” Vicky closes her eyes to center herself, but knows she needs to say it.

“I think that you should go back to Jensen and work things out. Get his perspective. Don’t let him tell you ‘anything’. You know how it is with people’s _anything_ ’s. If we try this -and I can’t promise anything but we’ll need a working hypothesis here - if we try this, we require concrete parameters. And maybe you should be intimate. You don’t even know if you’re compatible in that area.”

Misha frowns at her. “Would it be easier if we weren’t?”

Vicky swallows down the biting words bubbling up inside of her. She needs to stay calm or she’s going to cry, or scream, and she hates nothing more than to lose her composure. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. Just…I’m giving you free leave on this, okay? Use it however you want. I need…I need to be alone right now.”

“Of course.” Misha makes a move as if to hug her, but thinks better of it and vanishes in the bedroom, presumably to pack.

Vicky sighs and rummages for her phone. Time to call some old friends, then.  
___


	9. Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen tries to go on like nothing is amiss – mostly, he pretends Misha is still there and his father still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I know this took me forever. I know it's short. I didn't want to publish yet, but I'll go without a computer for several days, maybe weeks, so I thought I'd just get it over with now before my anons rip me apart. Since I finished it just now and will be offline from tomorrow on, it's unbeta'd. Sorry for that, too. Actually, I'm a big ball of sorry right now.

Jensen tries to go on like nothing is amiss – mostly, he pretends Misha is still there and his father still alive. He gets up at seven, runs to the park, subjects himself to a brutal work-out and, if he’s not completely destroyed by then, jogs back to his flat. He buys healthy food on most days, stays away from alcohol because apparently, the death of his father has not ended his panic attacks and he really doesn’t want to end up an alcoholic, and goes to bed early after having called either his mother or one of his siblings.

He doesn’t experience an outright attack, but he feels the fear lurk in the back of his mind, unfocused, almost random, waiting to overwhelm him. Jensen clings to his routine like a life-line as Misha has told him to, even going so far as to practice autogenic training, and when the doorbell finally rings on Friday, Jensen thinks he’s okay.

The moment he sees Misha’s weary face, though, it all crumbles to dust. They’re in each other’s arms instantly, Misha trying to make soothing sounds, but he’s trembling and wet. Apparently, Jensen has missed the beginnings of a thunder storm. 

Misha’s hands stroke over Jensen’s shoulders before he finally lets go, like he really doesn’t want to part. Jensen feels his mouth stretch into what has to be the first real smile in weeks before he says: “Man, come on, shower. I’ll get you some towels.” 

Misha nods, trailing behind Jensen to the bathroom. “I’m incredibly tired.” He mumbles while stripping out of his drenched clothing. “Can we go to bed early?”

“Sure, if you’ll let me make you dinner first.”

___

It’s not as awkward as Jensen half-feared it would be – they’re as close and easy as they were two weeks prior. Misha smiles and frowns with all his little nuances, and Jensen is relaxed and comfortable even though he still tends to screw up communication. They’re in the park again, rest-ing their backs against a large tree, when Jensen makes himself say: “So. What about you and Vicky?”

Misha shifts infinitesimally next to him. “She said she needs time to think about it, and that I should use it to …talk stuff through with you.”

Jensen frowns. “What do we need to talk about?”

Misha sighs. “A lot of things. What you’re willing to go along with, mostly.”

Jensen is half-way through the word when Misha interrupts him with a hissed: “ _Don’t_ say ‘anything’ when you don’t mean it.”  
They jog back to Jensen’s flat, silence heavy between them.

___

Jensen discovers that cooking is Misha’s way to apologize. He does several complicated dishes that all taste heavenly, and they settle on the sofa with nice wine and a bag of chips to go with it. Jensen thinks about what Misha said, how ‘anything’ is not the right answer. He tries to imagine how it would be, seeing Misha kiss Vicky, knowing that he’ll sleep with her behind closed doors, finds the thought almost impossible to stand. Misha is right – it’s not that easy.

He gets a panic attack halfway through the movie they’re watching and can’t explain it in the least. There’s coldness in his neck and before Jensen knows what is happening, he’s in the middle of hyperventilating. Misha helps him through it with his voice and his eyes and his mere presence, but Jensen is shaken.

“There hasn’t even been a trigger! What the fuck is happening, Mish?”

Misha frowns. “I think you’re starting to have generalized attacks. You absolutely need a therapist. I’m sorry.”

Jensen sighs, but really, he’s already decided that there’s no way around it. The attacks should have stopped with the death of his father, but yeah, psychology doesn’t seem to work like that. Jensen can’t believe he’d thought it would be anywhere near that logical. 

“We shouldn’t have attempted this on our own even though I can’t really regret that we did.”

Misha smiles at him softly and Jensen wants to kiss him so bad it’s a physical ache in his chest.

___

Jensen goes the next day. She’s beautiful in a detached sort of way, and introduces herself as Doctor Chiraka. She even admits that she already knows certain things about him, since apparently, she’s the one Misha mentioned getting advice from.

Jensen spends the first session talking almost solely about memories of his early childhood and actually starts crying twice. When he leaves Dr. Chiraka’s building, he feels worn out, but lighter. His memories of his father - what he was like before shame and guilt clouded Jensen perception of him - have been somewhat restored by recalling their yearly holidays at the coast, how Alan used to start fretting whenever one of them swam out to far, and how he’d try to jump into the water casually but was really just panicking about his sons. (Mac never went into the water – she had been deadly afraid of sharks).

On his way back, Jensen wonders if he needs to talk to Misha about… well, stuff. Is he allowed to kiss him? Could he have, the day prior? Would he even be able to without freaking out? Jensen has thought about it so much lately that he doesn’t really think he would, but you never know, right? It has been the beginning of his journey to himself, after all, and his anxiety is behaving seriously unpredictable at the moment. Well, he’ll just have to try, then. Misha has been rolling with everything Jensen threw at him remarkably well until now.

Jensen enters his flat still deep in thought, but the picture of Misha standing in his kitchen like he belongs there, currently stirring something delicious smelling, is too wonderful to not notice.

Before Jensen really knows what he’s doing, he approaches Misha, who only throws him a quick smile and goes back to cutting lettuce. There’s a weird determination building in Jensen, like this is the moment he needs to use or it will never come again. He touches Misha’s shoulders lightly so as not to startle him, then takes the stirring rod from his hands and slowly turns him around. They are close, not even a hand span between them, and Misha stares at him in a way that makes Jensen’s throat go dry. He swallows, and then slowly leans forward.

Misha doesn’t move, but Jensen can feel the quick bursts of breath against his lips, and then he’s kissing him. Misha’s lips are relaxed, pliant under his, until he seems to realize what is happening. There’s a high noise, almost a keen, and suddenly Misha is turning them around, Jensen pressed against the counter, and damn, Misha _actually_ starts kissing him.

There’s so much sensation – the smell of the food combined with the heady scent of Misha, the way another warm body feels against him, hands trembling on Jensen’s shoulders, like Misha can’t believe he’s allowed to touch. And the kiss, oh lord. Jensen has been scared of this? _This?_ He’s an idiot.

Jensen hears himself moan when Misha’s agile tongue finally pushes between his lips. He opens up and surrenders, letting Misha take the lead he secretly always wanted to give him, lets himself fall against the hands that are now on his back, massaging, grabbing the fabric there.

There’s no denying they’re both incredibly aroused, their erections trapped between their bodies, and with every move Misha makes against Jensen, they both moan a bit louder. 

“Want you so much” Misha whispers against Jensen’s neck, and Jensen is really, completely on board with anything that might happen, but Misha’s kisses end at his collarbone and slowly get lighter, less desperate.

“I really need to continue cooking, though”, he mumbles against Jensen’s lips again.

“Mhh”. Jensen nips at Misha’s stubble one more time, because he really, really likes the feeling of it under his tongue, and then finally lets go of the death grip he has on the other man’s hips. “And with that you mean you don’t want to rush this.”

Misha grins, an open, happy thing. “I want to rush this very much. I just don’t think it would be wise.” With that, he turns his back on Jensen, hips swinging maybe a bit too enthusiastically, and starts stirring whatever soup he’s cooking.

___

“So are you cooking this much for Vicky, too?” Jensen asks in between the soup and the salad. 

Misha frowns, but Jensen is pretty sure it’s mocking. “She’s vegan. I refuse to cook for her.”

“Wow, that’s mean, Mish. Your food is delicious and doesn’t even have meat in it all that often.”

Misha smiles at the compliment like he’s genuinely flattered. “Maybe, but vegan food is more complicated. There’s stuff like eggs and milk. Don’t get me started.” He waves his hand around like this is a topic he is tired off already, so Jensen drops it to suggest what he was actually pondering.

“So. I was thinking.”

“Really.”

“Shut up. I was thinking. About two things.”

“Jensen, seriously now.”

Jensen fumbles with his fork and doesn’t quite manage to meet Misha’s eyes.

“Yeah yeah. So about that kiss between Dean and Cas.”

Misha freezes in his movements for maybe a millisecond, but proceeds to eat his own bowl of salad almost instantly. “Oh, that.”

Jensen rolls his eyes because at least he doesn’t pretend not to care. “I feel like we should do it.”  
___


End file.
